Arthur Goes Fifth IX: Sphere of Influence
by Dead Composer
Summary: Muffy runs afoul of the mob, an old enemy haunts Brain, and the Unicorns unleash a magical weapon of unbelievable power. It's a typical day in Elwood City.
1. An Odd Duck

Disclaimer: I didn't vote for Sanjaya.

* * *

Van Cooper was an odd duck indeed—seated in an easy chair, looking a bit tired and haggard, his useless legs resting on an ottoman, a peach-colored skirt covering his useless legs. His friend Alan had notified their circle of friends of his sudden arrival, and they had begun to assemble—first Arthur and D.W., then Binky and Sue Ellen, then Alan's teenaged sister, Tegan.

"I said I'd tell you the whole story once I got my wheelchair back," said the big-beaked boy to Alan and the gathered kids. "So, where's my wheelchair?"

Alan's glare was one of suspicion. "I don't _know_ where your wheelchair is," he replied impatiently. "I'd find you a new one, but they don't exactly grow on trees."

Van sighed dejectedly. "I don't _want_ a new wheelchair. Unless…unless you can get me a pimped-out one with off-road suspension and…"

"Where's the Professor?" barked Alan. "You didn't _kill_ him, did you?"

Van's eyes went wide with indignation. "No!" he declared. "I'd _never_ kill a dog! I tried, but I couldn't force myself to do it!"

"Then how did you change back?" Alan demanded. "_Who_ changed you back?"

The duck boy hesitated, his face sheepish. No one in the room dared breathe a word.

The silence was broken when D.W. turned to her brother and asked, "Arthur, what does 'pimped-out' mean?"

"Uh, it means…fancy," answered the aardvark boy. "Fancy and expensive, like something a pimp would drive."

"Cool," said D.W. "Maybe _I'll_ be a pimp someday."

Troubled thoughts swirled in Van's brain. _I don't know how I can say this. I didn't kill the Professor, but he's as good as dead anyway…_

He earned a welcome reprieve when two girls strolled into the living room, Muffy and Fern. "Omifreakingosh," said Muffy, who once again wore the optical fiber dress that showed off a real-time image of her startled face. "Van? Here? In a _dress?_"

"Er, hi, Muffy," said Van bashfully.

Muffy put her hands on her hips. "You may be an honorary girl, but _this_ is taking it a little too far," she chided the boy. "Wearing dresses is a privilege reserved for _female_ girls."

"I can explain," Van assured her.

"Whatever," said Muffy. "I'm just glad you're back."

Sue Ellen, meanwhile, loosened her grip on Binky's fingers so she could touch and stroke the astonishing fabric of Muffy's dress with both hands. "It's fabulous," she marveled. "Where did you get it?"

Muffy yanked the pleats of her alien dress away from the cat girl's probing fingers. "Whoa, Nellie," she said. "You don't touch the dress, the _dress_ touches _you_."

"Muffy's dress came from the planet Orelob," Fern informed Sue Ellen. "You know that. We _all_ know that. She won't stop telling us."

_Orelob?_ thought the orange-haired girl. _I've never heard of such a place. This reality is so weird and confusing. Stay calm, Sue. Just nod and smile and pretend you know what's going on._

"Muffy, I don't think it's a good idea to wear that dress in public," Arthur cautioned his friend. "Somebody may try to steal it off your back again."

The monkey girl shook her braided head. "I'm on my guard now," she said confidently. "I never go anywhere unless I'm in plain view of other people. No one would dare try to take my dress—especially that horrible Mr. Gelt, after the lesson my daddy taught him."

_Flashback_

"Heed my warning, Crosswire," said the old rabbit man, clutching his cane with one hand and rubbing his sore jaw with the other. "I'll have that dress, or I'll have my revenge—on you, and your entire family!"

_End flashback_

Alan's voice cut through the pleasant conversation like a siren. "Let's not change the subject," he said. "Van's trying to tell us what happened to the Professor."

_Who the heck is the Professor?_ Sue Ellen wondered.

Van timidly cleared his throat. "It was his idea, not mine," he began. "He said he had a plan to get me turned back into a boy…he told me to repeat the words…the magic words that would transport us to the chamber of the Unicorn Council…"

_Unus Cornu Concilio_, D.W. recalled, having once uttered the words herself.

"…but once we were there," Van continued, "he spoke to the Council, and announced that he was surrendering."

"Surrendering?" Alan blurted out. "What do you mean?"

"He was surrendering," said Van, "on the condition that I'd be changed back into my old self."

"But why?" said Alan earnestly. "Is he at war with the unicorns? Did he commit some sort of crime against them?"

"I asked them the same question," recounted the duck boy, whose voice was beginning to quiver. "They told me something I didn't totally understand…that their minds are protected from the Professor's powers, but it won't be long before they're _not._"

_Flashback_

The unicorn girl Vanessa lay trembling on the couch, convulsed by spasms and screams. "Whatever you're doing, it ends _now_," said Alan to the repentant-looking Shih Tzu. "Can't you see you're torturing her?"

_End flashback_

Alan's expression turned solemn as he remembered the scene. "So _that's_ what it's all about," he mused. "And they're _already_ starting to lose their immunity."

"But once it's gone," observed Arthur, "the Sentinels won't stand a chance against the X-Pets. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Alan. "But for the unicorns, it's a very _bad_ thing. No wonder they want the Professor dead."

"Don't worry, Alan," said D.W., her eyes bright and hopeful. "We'll find your wheelie-dog, even if we have to go all the way to the end of the world."

The bear boy shook his head. "It may be too late," he said somberly. "If the unicorns have him, they'll kill him. Why would they keep him alive?"

A tear formed at the base of Van's right eye, streamed down to his beak, and dripped into his nostril.

* * *

To be continued 


	2. Bionic Bunny Meets His Match

For as long as Francine could remember (and to her it seemed like a very long time), she had spent every Saturday morning at temple, in the exact same meetinghouse on Edison Street. Not so today—she had elected to spend the time with her British friend Beat Simon, in her small, paper-strewn apartment. While Mrs. Simon tapped out her latest fantasy novel on the computer (_No Gruel for You!_, the sequel to _Bad Dragon! No Damsel!_ and _Bad Zombie! No Brain!_), Francine and Beat lounged carelessly in front of the TV, wiggling their toes inside their matching bunny slippers.

"It's hard to believe," said Francine wistfully. "My parents are Jewish, my grandparents are Jewish, my great-grandfather survived the Warsaw Ghetto—but today, I am a Christian."

Beat nodded lazily. "Your mum and dad will surely give you a tongue-lashing when they return for you," she remarked. "I don't see why people make such a big fuss about religion. To me, changing one's religion is tantamount to playing tennis instead of badminton—in the long run, one racket's as good as another."

"So," said Francine, "you don't believe in God, or Jesus, or any of that?"

"Not really," said Beat, shaking her head.

Francine pursed her lips. With a hint of earnestness she said, "Everybody dies sooner or later, Beat. When it comes your time, and you go to the other side and see God, what do you think he'll say?"

After a second's thought Beat replied, "I imagine he'd say, 'Won't you come in for a spot o' tea?'"

* * *

It was almost noon, but Buster preferred to remain in bed, holding a pillow over his ears to block out the acrimonious sounds his parents were making in the next room. It was no easy feat, considering the length of his ears. _I wish I had another pillow_, he thought.

"Bitzi, darling," said Harry Mills contritely. "Every night I spend at the hotel without you is almost unbearable. I miss your eyes, your skin, your scent…even your snoring. If only I'd known before of the loneliness, and the pain, of not having you at my side, I…I would've tried even _harder_ to persuade you to admit that you're wrong."

Bitzi, filing her nails and wearing a burgundy tank top, hardly acknowledged his presence. "Your words say one thing, but your actions in London say another," she said coldly. "You ran away, leaving me alone with my baby, _literally_ in the middle of an alien invasion. What will Petula think of you when I tell her what you did? Will she look up to you? I don't think so."

"Oh, Bitzi," muttered Harry as he paced around the bedroom, wringing his hands. "Bitzi, Bitzi, Bitzi…if only I could show you how I feel…if only you'd have pity on me."

"It may interest you to know," the rabbit woman went on, "that Herb Haney is due to be released from government custody on Tuesday evening."

"Herb Haney?" said the consternated Harry. "You're…you're not considering…"

"Yes, I _am_ considering," said Bitzi with a gloating grin. "I realize now what a mistake I made when I passed on him all those years ago."

Buster overheard the name, and his intestines turned to water.

"Bitzi, the man has an artificial heart from outer space," Harry protested. "You don't know what else has changed about him since he was shot. Is he still fully human? Can he still…you know…"

"I don't see why not," said Bitzi. "If you had a bionic heart, wouldn't _you_ last longer in bed?"

His imagination taking over, Buster lapsed into a fantasy sequence…

_Herbert Haney. Principal. A man barely alive. Ladies and gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We can make him better than he was. Better. Stronger. Stricter. But not cooler._

_Herbert Haney—The Six Trillion Dollar Dad_. Six trillion, Buster figured, was the present-day equivalent of six million, adjusted for inflation and malpractice insurance.

Wandering along a country road, he noticed a tall rabbit man who wore a straw hat and faded blue overalls on top of what looked like red and blue tights. Drawing closer, he blurted out in amazement, "Bionic Bunny! What are _you_ doing here?"

The superhero turned and smiled, leaving his spade sticking out of the soil. "What I've always wanted to do," he said casually. "Raising rhododendrons. Aren't they the most beautiful things you've ever seen?"

"But…but…" stammered Buster.

"You sound like a motorboat," said Bionic Bunny. "Here, have a packet of seeds."

"But you shouldn't be here," said the rabbit boy indignantly. "You should be up in the sky, watching out for villains and defending us from the forces of evil."

"Bah," said the jocular hero. "I'm no longer needed, now that the world is protected by…YOUR DAD!"

"Hey, where's that music coming from?" wondered Buster as a triumphant brass fanfare greeted his ears. In less than no time at all, the armor-clad champion Principal Man came rocketing from the sky, making a perfect two-point landing between two of Bionic Bunny's prize bushes.

"Get out your notebooks," he trumpeted. "Principal Man is here!"

"Aww, man," groaned Buster. "My mom married the weirdest guy in the universe. He even makes Bionic Bunny look normal."

"I don't like your tone," said Principal Man, handing the boy a sheet of paper. "Tremble before my Detention Slip of Justice!"

"Huh?" said Buster, horrified. "You can't give me detention! You're my dad!"

"Yes, I'm your dad," said the man in platinum armor. "But first and foremost, I'm a principal. And a superhero. And your dad. And a principal again." He looked down at his watch, on which a picture of _himself_ kept time with its arms. "Holey moley! I'm late for my three-o'clock battle with Dr. Plague!"

"Go easy on the old man," said Bionic Bunny as he knelt down to dig another seed hole.

"Give your mother my regards," said Principal Man, laying a gloved hand on Buster's shoulder. "If I'm not home in time for dinner, just stow it in the fridge, and I'll warm it up with my heat vision when I get back."

"But you're _never_ home in time for dinner," said the boy dolefully.

"I love you too, son," said the hero, raising his arms to the heavens. "When evil threatens I'm always nigh, it's up, up, up, and away I fly!"

As he watched his stepfather vanish into the stratosphere, Buster started to fantasize about attending a special high school for children of superheroes, only to discover that he alone among the student body had no powers…

* * *

To be continued 


	3. Are You Meshuganah?

True to Beat's prediction, Mr. and Mrs. Frensky had many words for Francine, few of them positive, as they retrieved her from the Simons' condo. "Jackie Mason was there today," her mother told her. "You missed quite a show. He had some especially choice words for the Pope."

"Uh-huh," said Francine, her full attention turned to her seat belt. "Mom, is it all right if I go to church with Arthur and his family tomorrow?"

Her father nearly lost his spit. "What are you, _meshuganah?_" he blurted out.

"Now, Oliver," said his wife gently. "Remember what happened the last time you lost your temper while you were driving?"

Mr. Frensky gripped the wheel tightly with all ten fingers. "I've already lost _one_ daughter this month," he muttered angrily. "I'm not about to lose _you_, Francine. You should feel lucky we didn't tie you up and drag you to temple with us."

"Not that we would ever do that," said Mrs. Frensky dismissively. "But, Frankie, honey, you don't know anybody at Arthur's church. You'd be surrounded by strangers, listening to some weird _goyim_ sermon about wine that turns into blood, and all your friends at temple would be asking about you. 'Is Francine sick? Is she dead? Why isn't she here?'"

Francine gazed down at her red blouse and jeans, and felt admittedly strange that her parents had dressed up in their Saturday best without her. "Arthur's a good kid, Mom," she remarked. "His parents are okay, too. I don't think they would go to a bad church."

"I didn't say it was _bad_," her mother clarified. "I only said it was _unfamiliar_."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," grumbled Mr. Frensky. "Our little house isn't big enough for two religions."

"I still don't understand why you want to change, dear," said Mrs. Frensky to the girl. "Jews, Christians, Mormons…they're all headed for the same place, and one won't get you there faster than another. Stick with what you know, that's what I say."

"But, Mom," said Francine insistently, "it's not just one place, it's _two_ places, heaven and hell—and maybe a _third_ place for Mormons, I don't know."

A few moments went by in silence as they pulled up next to the Westboro apartment building. Francine, concerned that her request had been implicitly denied, said, "I promise I'll be really good, and clean my room every day, and keep my dresser sorted, and always, _always_ be a good sport."

Mr. Frensky's scowl gave way to a snicker. "All right, Frankie, if you do _all_ those things, you can go to Arthur's church." He grinned confidently. "Of course, you _can't_ do all those things. Just last Tuesday you threw a fit in gym class because you thought Prunella was cheating."

"Well, she _was_ cheating," Francine complained. "That dirty rat stuck her hand right in my face!" She calmed herself. "Uh, I mean, she stuck her hand in my face to stop me from falling after I tripped over Binky's sneaker. Yeah, it was a very nice thing she did, too."

* * *

Grateful tears were shed at Alan's house as the Cooper family was reunited with their boy Van, who was in turn reunited with his wheelchair. "Dude, it's really you," said Logan wistfully. "I can't believe I thought that _girl_ was you."

"That girl _was_ me," said Van as his older brother lifted him by the armpits into the motorized chair.

"Sure, dude," said Logan. "Whatever."

Odette leaned over, then bent her neck downward, in order to place a peck on Van's cheek. "I've missed you a lot," said the swan girl. "You're worth more than a _dozen_ little sisters."

"If Mom lives long enough, you'll have that many," Van joked.

Nearby, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper were commending Alan, Tegan, and their parents. "I wish I could repay you for finding our son," said the duck man, "but we're nearly flat broke, and Valerie won't let me plunder the college fund."

"I know how you must feel," said Mrs. Powers, shaking Mrs. Cooper's feathered hand. "For all those years Tegan was away, I lay awake every night wondering, 'Why do I need help taking care of my own daughter? Am I not a good enough mother?' And then, to suddenly discover I had a son I'd completely forgotten about—hello, inferiority complex. However, I've found that the best way to deal with feelings of inferiority, at least in my case, is positive self-reassurance."

"But I _don't_ have feelings of inferiority," said Mrs. Cooper.

"There, you've got it," said Mrs. Powers supportively. "Now keep telling yourself that." Her ears picked up the ringing of the phone. "Excuse me, please."

"I have just one question," said Van to his older siblings. "How will you explain to the people at school that Vanessa's gone, and I've taken her place?"

Logan smirked. "Aliens, dude. It always works when I forget to finish my homework."

Before long Mrs. Powers returned to the den, found Alan engaged in an arm-wrestling contest with Dallin, and quickly whispered a few words into her son's ear.

Alan's face turned a whiter shade of pale.

"You win, Dallin," he said, allowing the little duck boy to wrench his wrist to the table. An instant later he jumped up, located Tegan's hand, grabbed it, and dragged his sister away from the crowd into a more private room. Once inside, he stared at her with visible fear in his eyes.

"What?" said Tegan, befuddled. "Is it about the Professor?"

Alan shook his head. "The Professor's the least of my problems now," he said ominously. "_Mansch has escaped._"

* * *

To be continued 


	4. The Midnight Knock

"What do you mean, he _escaped?_" said Tegan incredulously. "He's locked up in a mental hospital, no smarter than a two-year-old. He wouldn't even know how to turn a doorknob."

"I don't know," replied Alan, waving his hands anxiously. "But Mom just heard from the police, and apparently Mansch is gone."

The brown-haired girl, her face showing alarm, grabbed her younger brother by the shoulders. "What if the mind-wipe wasn't permanent?" she worriedly wondered. "What if he's recovered his memories? What if Ray is _back?_" She grinned toothily at the prospect.

"Sure, that would be good for _you_," said Alan. "But don't forget, _I'm_ the one who wiped his mind. If he's really free, the first thing he'll want to do is track me down, and the second thing he'll want to do is _get revenge._"

(Author's note for those new to the series: Raymond Mansch was introduced in Arthur Goes Fifth I as a jewel thief and former accomplice of Molly's father. He later allied himself with Tegan, became leader of a group called the Brainchildren, and tried to strong-arm Alan into joining them. Alan, having recently discovered his own memory-erasing powers, wiped Mansch's mind in a moment of panic.)

They returned to the den, where their parents were bidding farewell to the Coopers. "I hope you all enjoy your lives in Crown City," said Mr. Powers to the family of waterfowl. "Though what we'd really like is for you to stay in Elwood City, at your old house, and restore the status quo."

"Now that we have Van back in one piece, I'm tempted to do just that," Mrs. Cooper admitted. "I thought moving away from Elwood would move us away from the weirdness...but then the aliens attacked, and we all turned into raving paranoid lunatics, and we realized that no place on Earth was truly normal."

"There's a problem, though," her husband interjected. "We already have a buyer for the house—a nice aardvark family."

"That's easy to fix," said Mrs. Powers. "Just put on a ghost costume and make them think the house is haunted. It worked in the movie _Mother Carey's Chickens_, and I don't see why it shouldn't work for ducks as well."

Van was the last Cooper to roll out of the house. Once the den was quiet again, Mrs. Powers explained to her children, "The police will be here shortly. They want to ask us some questions about Mr. Mansch, and since your father and I can't remember a thing about him, we'll need to rely on the two of you."

"I have some questions of my own," said Mr. Powers. "Just who _is_ this Mansch character, and what does he have to do with us?"

Shame welled up in Alan's stomach. _I don't dare tell them the truth. If they ever learn about what I did to Mansch, and how I wiped their memories of my whole life, they'll think I'm a dangerous freak, and they'll treat me like one._

"Ray Mansch was the man who kidnapped Fern Walters," Tegan explained to them. "He was the man I ran away with. You remember when I ran away, right?"

"Only vaguely," her father answered. "Is there a chance he may try to take you away again?"

"He was only interested in me because of my powers," the girl replied. "Now that they're gone, he has no reason to pay attention to us."

_I wish I could believe that_, thought Alan.

* * *

He rested uneasily, afraid that Mansch would visit in the night and bring danger with him. And danger _did_ come that evening, but it missed his house entirely…

At the Nordgren residence, everyone was lost in unsuspecting slumber—Mr. and Mrs. Nordgren in their bedroom, Sal in the room she shared with Jenny the alien, and George in the room he thankfully shared with no one. Jenny had easily adjusted to Earth sleeping patterns (the day on Kressida was thirty-six hours long), but she found one peculiar habit very difficult to break. It wasn't that she snored, but that she _whistled._ She whistled like a teapot, constantly, whenever she was asleep. At first it had bothered Sal and kept her awake for hours, but she had learned to deal with it by continually reminding herself that _'omigosh there's a space alien in my bedroom!'_.

The stillness was broken by a knock at the door. Mr. Nordgren opened his drowsy eyes and glanced at the digital alarm clock. "Who'd be calling at this hour?" he muttered impatiently to himself.

A hand with long fingernails seized his wrist. "Don't go, Carl," urged his wife. "It's the midnight knock—the Soviet thought police. If we stay quiet, they'll think we're not at home."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Lena," said Mr. Nordgren, dragging one leg and then the other off the mattress. "There are no Soviet thought police. You're still suffering from paranoid delusions."

"Maybe so, Carl," said the moose woman. "But don't forget—you thought there was radioactive waste buried under the house, and you turned out to be _right._"

"Coincidence," her husband grumbled. Throwing on a plaid bathrobe, he staggered down the stairway and yanked open the front door. The two strangers he saw were tall, wore blue robes and hoods, and had long, horse-like noses; what was more, their foreheads gave off an eerie golden glow. They stood motionlessly, as if waiting with infinite patience for the moose man to react to their presence.

Mr. Nordgren sighed peevishly. "I'm sorry, but George can't play _Call of Cthulhu_ right now. Come back in the morning."

"The alien girl will come with us," uttered one of the visitors, a female. "It would be unwise of you to resist."

* * *

To be continued 


	5. Alien Abduction

Swirling red and blue lights shone through the darkness—the police had arrived at George's house, responding to a reported alien abduction. Such cases were strange enough, but this case was even stranger, as it was the _alien_ who had been abducted.

Officer Pinsky scribbled down notes as Mr. Nordgren recounted his experience. "They were tall, a little taller than me, even with the antlers," he said. "They wore these long blue robes, as if they were cultists or something. I grabbed George's baseball bat and threatened them with it, but one of them pointed at me, and ripped the bat from my hands without touching it. They put some kind of spell on Jenny so she couldn't move; she flounced around like a rag doll while they carried her out. We're talking otherworldly powers here, so you may want to get in touch with the X-Files, or the Men in Black, or Torchwood, or whoever it is that handles these situations."

"We'll do that," Pinsky assured him. "But first, would you mind describing the missing alien in detail?"

"Sure," replied the moose man. "About 5'2", artichoke-shaped head, pointed ears, pointed teeth, pale green skin…"

"Thank you, sir," said the other policewoman, Officer Jones. "That should be plenty to go on."

"I'm curious," Mrs. Nordgren chimed in. "It seems I run into you two officers everywhere I go. Are you the only policewomen in Elwood City, or what?"

"Funny you should ask," said Jones. "Earlier today we visited a family down the street, questioning them about an escaped mental patient, and they were wondering the same thing."

* * *

As Jenny regained a semblance of consciousness, the blindfold was ripped away from her eyes, and she saw a darkened chamber with two illuminated faces in its midst. She tried to lift her hands and rub her eyes, but strong shackles bound them to the arms of the chair on which she was seated. "Huh?" she muttered in her triplicate voice. "What is this place?"

One of the horned faces began to speak. "We mean you no harm," he said calmly. "I apologize that we had to retrieve you so forcefully, but we had little time to act, as the humans use every opportunity to persecute and torment us."

The Kressidan girl shook her head to ward off the dizziness. "Humans? Us?" she marveled. "You mean you're not human? What _are_ you?"

The other face smiled. "My name is Guida von Horstein," she stated. "On my right is my husband, Arlos. We're unicorns."

Jenny squirmed in the cold metal chair. "This isn't necessary," she told the couple. "Release me, and I promise I'll behave."

"Very well," said Mr. von Horstein. There was a flicker in the darkness as he waved his hand, causing the shackles to separate with a click.

Jenny looked down at her slender wrists to check for signs of injury, and then addressed the unicorns again. "I don't understand. I have a degree in Earth culture, yet I've never heard of unicorns. I always assumed humans were the only sentient race here."

Mrs. von Horstein nodded. "The humans like to assume that as well," she said with a hint of bitterness. "Most of them look upon us as mythological beings. Only their leaders are aware of our nature and our powers, and they consider us a threat to their supremacy. They kill every one of us they can find, which is why we've taken to living in underground cities."

Bowing her head, Jenny contemplated what she had been told. "I thought genocide was a thing of Earth's past," she said humbly. "I thought King Martin Luther had guided humanity away from attitudes of bigotry and intolerance—but now you tell me it's still going on."

A moment of apparently sympathetic silence passed between the horse-faced man and woman. "A wise unicorn once said, 'Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it'," Mr. von Horstein spoke up. "And humans can't learn from history. That's not their fault, of course—they're simply unwitting victims of the repeating history loop."

Jenny raised her eyes boldly. "What do you want from _me?_" she inquired. "Are you expecting me to help you somehow?"

"Exactly," said the unicorn man.

* * *

Despite the hectic nature of their Sunday morning schedule, Arthur and D.W. made time to visit George and consult with him, and even managed to take Francine along. Arthur wore a tan suit jacket, a spotted tie, and shiny black shoes, D.W. sported her pink church dress, and Francine was clad in the light blue dress that spent the bulk of its time in her closet.

"Arthur and D.W. I can understand," remarked the curious George, "but what are _you_ all gussied up for, Francine?"

"It's my first day going to a Christian church," said the girl, proudly waving her skirt about. "I want to look good for Jesus."

The moose boy's jaw dropped. "You, Francine? A Christian? When did _that_ happen?"

"Well, it hasn't happened yet," she replied. "I still need to get baptized."

"Cool," said George. "Sprinkling or immersion?"

"I don't care," said Francine, "as long as it's not the baptism of fire. That sounds really painful."

"So, George," Arthur chimed in, "tell us all about what happened last night. Do you have any idea why the Sentinels would want to take Jenny?"

"Sentinels?" said George, confused.

"They're the _bad_ unicorns," D.W. told him.

"They're not the _only_ bad unicorns, D.W.," said Arthur. "In case you haven't noticed, they have a nasty habit of snatching people away to their unicorn city. They snatched Jenny. They snatched Vanessa. They tried to snatch me and Francine, and they tried to snatch _you_."

"And nobody could stop them, except for the X-Pets," Francine added.

"And the X-Pets don't have a leader anymore," Arthur continued. "The unicorns must be planning something, or they wouldn't have killed the Professor and kidnapped Jenny. But what is it? What's their plan?"

* * *

to be continued 


	6. Sniff

"I'm serious about this, Muffy," said Fern. "The person who stole your dress may try again, and may be closer than you think. If I were you, I'd hide it in a safe deposit box."

"Oh, yeah, right," said Muffy into her cell phone. "What do I do then, put the safe deposit box inside _another_ safe deposit box, and then bury the safe deposit box inside a sarcophagus? Geez, Fern, you totally miss the point of owning a dress."

"I'm coming over there," said the poodle girl with determination. "You and I need to have a girl-to-girl talk."

"Go on ahead," said Muffy, "but I'm not changing my mind. See you when you get here."

She folded up her cell phone, looked down at her own smiling face on the front of her dress, and shook her nicely braided hair. _I can't be wrong when I feel so self-satisfied_, she thought. _Fern can nag me until she's blue in the face…hmm, I should take a picture if she does._

Her father was lounging in the easy chair, his eyes glued to the _Wall Street Journal_. Muffy approached him, skipping merrily. "Daddy," she requested, "will you drive me to Crown City so I can see Van and his family in their new house?"

Mr. Crosswire peered over his newspaper. "You mean _today?_" he muttered.

Muffy nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"Ask your mother," said the man curtly.

"I did ask her," said Muffy, although she actually hadn't. "She told me to ask you."

"All right," said Mr. Crosswire, shifting in his chair. "Ask Bailey, then."

"Bailey?" said Muffy, wide-eyed. "But he doesn't work for us anymore."

"I know," said her father. "But the last time I talked to him, he said he'd be happy to give you a ride somewhere if you need one, for old times' sake."

* * *

Fern marched along the sidewalk, her fists clenched, in the direction of Muffy's condo. _I'd tell her the truth, but she couldn't handle it_, she thought. _I've got to come up with a story scary enough to shock her out of that silly dress—and if anyone can tell a scary story, it's me._

She almost didn't notice when a squat, paunchy man rounded a corner and stood in front of her, saying, "Pardon me, little girl."

She halted and glanced up at the man's catlike face, which wasn't much higher than her own. She recognized him immediately, and a chill of terror sprang from her toes to her hair ribbon.

"M-m-m-ma-man…" she stuttered, backing away tentatively.

The cat man bent over slightly and sniffed the air around Fern a few times. "Ah," he said with a grin. "You're a friend of Alan's, aren't you?"

"Help," gulped Fern. "Help! _Help!_"

She turned and ran, fear speeding up her flight, and the man stared after her with a quizzical expression.

It was her father, raking leaves in the yard, who first noticed her frantic eyes and pale face. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Dad!" she cried, gripping his wrist, her breaths quick. "He's back! Mansch is back! I saw him!"

The sound of the name made the poodle man tighten his fingers around the rake almost to the snapping point. "Try to stay calm, dear," he said. "I'll get the police on the line."

* * *

It came as quite a letdown to Muffy that Bailey's current ride was not a shiny black limousine, but a dull white sedan. It had, however, one thing going for it—a digital display that indicated the velocity, the trip mileage, and one other number. "What's that other number?" inquired Muffy, pointing. 

"It's the miles per gallon, Miss Muffy," replied the distinguished dog man. "I sold enough of my kinetic sculptures that I could afford this lovely hybrid vehicle. It gets 50 MPG on the highway, 35 MPG in the city."

"Interesting, I guess," said Muffy as she watched the bare trees fly past on the highway to Crown City. "So, did this thing come without a back seat, or did you get rid of it to improve your gas mileage?"

"The lack of a back seat is a standard feature of this model," said her one-time chauffeur. "I hope you don't find it too awkward—I know how accustomed you are to ordering me around from the back."

Muffy chuckled with delight. Bailey, his ears perking up, reached over to increase the volume of the radio: "The United Nations this morning extended an official welcome to the Alliance representatives, and offered to make several floors of the Times Square Hilton available to the alien diplomats when they arrive. The mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, had this to say…"

* * *

"He's back, Alan," said Fern, her voice filled with earnestness. "He came up to me on the street. What do you think he wants?" 

The bear boy carefully pondered her question. "I doubt it's you he's after," he remarked. "He only kidnapped you as a way to get at Molly's dad. It's gotta have something to do with the Brainchildren…or _me._"

Seated on her living room's couch, Fern leaned closer to the boy. "I'm scared," she told him. "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

Wordlessly, Alan put his arms over her shoulders, then around her back. He felt the warmth of her body as it began to warm his own. "Don't be afraid," he said reassuringly.

_The truth is, I'm only a little bit scared_, she thought. _But if this doesn't get Alan to notice me, nothing will._

* * *

To be continued 


	7. Van and Muffy Sitting in a Tree

The organist was playing a closing number as Francine, surrounded by Arthur's family and the exiting parishioners, came face to face with Reverend Fulsome. "Hello, young lady," said the frocked rabbit man. "I haven't seen you before."

"My name's Francine," replied the girl, shaking hands and smiling warmly. "I just loved your sermon, and the singing, but especially your sermon. I agreed with everything you said. Can I get baptized now?"

Arthur and D.W. gaped at her. The reverend only smirked. "That _is_ one of the services we provide," he stated. "Are your parents here?"

"Well, no," Francine answered. "They don't come here. They're not Christians."

"I see," said Fulsome. "Before I can arrange for you to be baptized, I'll have to get their permission."

"Oh, they'll _never_ give you that," said the monkey girl. "But if it's a permission slip from a grownup you need, I have a friend named Pokey who'd be glad to give you one."

Mr. Read cleared his throat. "It doesn't work that way," he informed her.

Undeterred, Francine turned her pleading eyes toward him. "Or _you_ could give me a permission slip," she suggested.

"No, Francine," said the aardvark man sternly. "It has to be from your own parents."

The girl shook her head insistently. "But…but the reverend just said, unless a man leave his father and mother, and follows Jesus, he can't be saved."

Reverend Fulsome gave her a patronizing pat on the head. "But Jesus also said, 'Suffer the little children, for of such are the kingdom of heaven.' If I were a pretty little thing like you, I wouldn't be in a rush to get baptized."

"Mr. Reverend, sir," D.W. chimed in, "why does Jesus want little children to suffer?"

"No, D.W.," said her older brother. "In the Bible, to suffer means to put up with something, like _I_ put up with _you_."

"Bible," Francine blurted out suddenly. "I'd better get myself a Bible. I've heard it's, like, fifty pages long, so I want to start reading right away, so I can finish before I die."

* * *

Bailey's hybrid car rolled along a grooved street with rows of dilapidated houses on either side. Muffy, having never seen a sight like the poor neighborhoods of Crown City, timidly peeked through the window, her nose and lower body concealed behind the door. "Bailey, are you sure we're still in America?" she asked the driver.

"Yes, Miss Muffy," he replied. "These are the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. I, myself, was little better off when I first came to the States."

"It can't be real," said Muffy as a worn, faded townhouse with cracked windows passed before her eyes. "It's like we're in a theme park, and this is Poverty Land."

When they finally parked in front of the place the Coopers called home, she stepped out of the vehicle with trepidation. The lawn was well kept and free of weeds, and the wooden slats composing the walls had a fresh veneer of paint, but nonetheless, she felt a sword dangling over her as she tiptoed to the front entrance. She knocked three times, and a well-known face appeared.

"Hi, Van," said Muffy. "May I come in?"

"Sure," said the duck boy, rotating his chair about. "Sorry about the wallpaper paste and junk—we're remodeling."

_Vomitrocious_, she thought, looking up and down at the drab, flaking walls. "Geez, Van, this house is even cruddier than your _old_ house…which, er, ah, wasn't the least bit cruddy."

"We're not staying her permanently," Van told her. "It's only until we sell the other house. After that, we'll buy a nice brownstone in the center of town."

"Oh, that would be _so_ cool," said Muffy, collapsing onto the leather couch she knew so well. "To live in a big city, with shopping and culture and fun things to do…"

"I hear you almost got to live on a _planet_," said Van, his wheelchair whirling to face her.

"Yeah, almost," Muffy recalled. "Didn't work out, but it was great while it lasted. You'd love Elci Kahaf, Van. Four hundred million people, skyscrapers the size of mountains—it makes New York look like Old York. Not to mention the aliens everywhere. Once I learned a few phrases, I had a swell time asking them what their extra body parts were for. They always told me; they're very friendly."

"Cool," said Van. "Is that where you got the dress?"

Muffy nodded. "It's an optical fiber dress. Isn't it the greatest?"

"It is," said her friend. "It really is. I almost wish I was still a girl, so I could try it on."

Muffy's eyes narrowed as her smile widened. "I _totally_ missed you being a girl," she said playfully. "What was it like?"

"What? Being a girl, or being able to walk?"

"Being a girl, _duh_."

Van's eyeballs rolled up as he considered his answer. "It was…it was…_normal._"

Muffy sputtered and turned slightly red. "Normal? _Normal?_ Is that all you have to say about the greatest blessing that can possibly be bestowed upon a boy?"

"Normal for a _girl_," said Van. "I didn't try to be a boy in a girl's body—I wore dresses, and played with dolls, and stuff. It was like a normal girl's life."

"Hmph," said Muffy, folding her arms. "I guess you have to be _born_ into it to appreciate it."

"Except for one thing," Van went on. "When I was with the other girls, and they all said, 'Look at that cute boy,' and I looked at the boy, I didn't really feel like he was cute."

"Hmm," said Muffy.

"The other girls had something I was missing," said the duck boy. "I started to worry, because I knew that if a girl didn't think boys were cute, she'd never get married."

"I think _you're_ cute, Van," said Muffy wistfully.

"And I think you're cute, too," said Van matter-of-factly. "And that's normal. But what happens to a girl who doesn't think boys are cute, or a boy who doesn't think girls are cute? Do they grow up to be computer programmers, or comic book collectors?"

"Shush up, Van," said Muffy with marked impatience. "A _girl_ just told you that you're cute. How do you respond?"

Van stared blankly at her.

"Now you can see why I took up with George," said the monkey girl. "He knows how to treat a girl. He knows how to _kiss_ a girl. But, Van…" Her voice swelled with emotion. "It's _you_ I liked all along. But whenever I bring it up, all you do is talk. 'What if I grow up and decide I like somebody else?' 'What if we kiss and it feels really gross?' 'What if cooties are real?' 'What if' this? 'What if' that? You can talk the talk all right, Van, but the problem is, you can't walk the walk." She paused. "Uh…sorry, poor choice of words."

Her duck friend spoke up nervously. "I…I know how much you like me, Muffy. But what if I grow up and decide I like somebody else? What if we kiss and…"

"What if you just shut up and kiss me?" Muffy interrupted him.

* * *

Are you happy now, Van/Muffy shippers? To be continued… 


	8. Crunch

The sight of the infamous door made Alan nervous, and Fern even more so. Yet, as Alan reminded himself once again, "He must not have _all_ of his memories, or else he would've come looking for me and Tegan by now."

"Makes sense to me," said the poodle girl, who waited anxiously for someone to answer the doorbell or, preferably, for someone to _not_ answer it.

"I wonder what I'll say to him if he doesn't remember me," Alan mused. "'Hi, I'm the kid who mowed your lawn all summer, and you owe me five hundred dollars with interest.' How does that sound?"

Fern grinned wistfully at him. "That's so clever," she said. "Yeah, I think he'd fall for it."

They stood motionlessly on the dusty welcome mat, expecting to be greeted by either a raging monster or a forgetful friend. "I guess he's not home," said Alan finally.

Turning, he wrapped his fingers around Fern's hand, and they strolled away from Mansch's house together. The girl's skin was warm and slightly oily to his touch. "I love it when you hold my hand," said Fern, who appeared to be stifling a giggle.

"It's just a friendly gesture," said Alan without breaking his stride. "It doesn't mean I'm interested in you romantically."

"Oh," said Fern, her smile disappearing.

Alan's tone became serious as they took a side trip through an orchard. "It's not that I don't like you, Fern. I _do_ like you…but we're not destined to be together."

* * *

"I _do_ like you, Muffy," Van confided in his friend. "But I'm still young, and so are you. We should enjoy our childhood now, and worry about the birds and the trees when we're older."

"But I'm very mature for my age," said Muffy insistently, "and kissing's what mature people do. C'mon, it doesn't have to mean anything, you can just kiss me for the heck of it."

Van gazed into space and thought for a few seconds, then leaned forward in his wheelchair. "Okay," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Just this once, just for the heck of it."

* * *

"It's because I'm a dog, isn't it?" said Fern bitterly.

It was in the shade of a chestnut tree, with broken nuts littering the grass, that Alan tried to explain the situation to her. "It has nothing to do with that. Imagine…imagine traveling into the future, and seeing yourself married, and meeting the person you'll marry. How would that change things for you?"

The girl's eyes widened in astonishment. "Did that…did that happen to _you?_" she asked.

Alan nodded, a proud smile on his face.

"Who is it?" Fern inquired eagerly. "Is it Beat Simon?"

"No," replied Alan, chuckling. "What makes you think Beat and I would…"

Fern shrugged. "I just figured, since you're smart and she's smart…"

"No, it's not Beat," Alan told her. "And I'm surprised you didn't ask me if _you're_ the one."

_I'm surprised too_, thought Fern. "So, who's the lucky girl?"

* * *

Muffy pressed her lips against the tip of Van's beak and waited for something to happen. The kiss lasted for about five seconds, yet left her feeling as if it had never started. She drew back her face, disappointed.

"Well, that was…nice," said Van, a lack of enthusiasm apparent in his voice.

"I've never kissed a duck before," said Muffy. "It's like…it's like kissing hardened oatmeal."

"I can't help it if I don't have lips," said Van defensively.

"How do ducks do it, anyway?" said Muffy, looking down at her gesturing hands. "I mean, if a girl duck and a boy duck touch their beaks together, how can they feel anything at all?"

"When my mom and dad kiss," replied Van after a moment's reflection, "they usually have their beaks _open_, unless it's just a peck."

"Ewww," said Muffy with disgust. "Open-mouth kissing? That's _so_ gross!"

* * *

"I _don't_ believe it," said Fern after picking up her jaw from the ground. "You and D.W. Read?"

"Yeah," said Alan, shrugging. "Crazy, isn't it? But that's what Jason told me, and he's my son from the future, so he should know."

"But you don't have to go through with it, right?" said Fern earnestly. "The future's not like a movie, where the ending never changes."

"It's not that simple," said Alan, solemnity in his voice. "I also learned from Jason that…that millions of people will live or die depending on what I do with my life."

Fern could offer him nothing but a blank stare.

"I'm going to become a great weapons scientist," Alan related. "I'd tell you more, but I'd be giving away the future, and it's highly classified information anyway."

"Oh, come on, Alan," said Fern impatiently. "What you're talking about is just one possible future. You're still free to do whatever you want, to marry whoever you want…"

The boy shook his head. "I don't know, Fern. If I'm the one who builds the ultimate doomsday weapon, then I must have a good reason for doing it. Maybe I have a good reason for marrying D.W. as well."

* * *

Muffy leaned backwards in the passenger seat of Bailey's car, her arms folded, her face locked in a sulk. "Me and my silly romantic notions," she muttered. "I honestly believed Van and I could have a life together. How was I supposed to know that kissing a duck's beak was so unfulfilling?"

"I wouldn't discount ducks if I were you, Miss Muffy," said Bailey encouragingly. "When I was much younger I became involved with a lovely duck girl, and we came up with some very creative ways to…"

"I didn't ask for your life story, Jeeves," the monkey girl grumbled.

A road sign whizzed by, imparting the message ELWOOD CITY, 84 MILES. Muffy glared at her shiny, painted fingernails. _George was a little dorky, but at least he has lips_, she thought. _Maybe it's not too late to start over with…_

Her cell phone rang without warning. She flipped it open: "Hi, Muffy Crosswire here."

"Watch your back," uttered a strange, threatening male voice, and the call ended with a series of beeps.

Muffy followed her first impulse, turning her head and craning her neck to look through the back window. Among the handful of cars moving in their direction, an old, rather dented green one was traveling faster than the others—_much_ faster.

Bailey glanced at the rear-view mirror, and saw that the unknown vehicle was rapidly closing the distance between them. "Hmm," he said to himself. "Someone either just escaped from Hell, or is in a dreadful hurry to get there."

_It's going almost as fast as a jet_, thought Muffy. The driver's features became visible as the car pulled alongside Bailey's hybrid, and she imagined that the ruddy-looking man might be a superspy on an urgent mission. In an instant the two cars were parallel, as the other had suddenly slowed down.

"I think he's trying to tell us something," remarked Bailey, noticing the driver's cold stare and grim smirk as he turned his face to them.

"He scares me," said Muffy. Her first impression wasn't helped when the mysterious driver abruptly yanked his wheel to the right, and the sides of the two vehicles collided with a resounding, earth-shaking crunch…

* * *

To be continued 


	9. That's Not Kosher

Shuddering from the impact, Bailey's car lurched toward the shoulder of the highway. Muffy screamed with fright as her former chauffeur fumbled to regain control of the unruly steering wheel. After a few tense moments he succeeded in straightening the vehicle, and it curved into a straight course along the grooved right shoulder.

Muffy was shaken and pale, and Bailey himself appeared to be struggling for breath. As the shock and terror faded from their hearts, they noticed that the green sedan and its malevolent driver had rocketed ahead at top speed, seemingly uninterested in another attack. Bailey gently applied the brakes, and the battered hybrid slowed and stopped on the roadside.

Muffy was the first to speak, though it was more of a whimper. "He…he tried to…to…to kill us," she mumbled.

"I rather don't think so, Miss Muffy," said Bailey, watching the hostile car turn into a speeding speck on the horizon. "If that were the case, he would have stayed here to finish the job. Did you happen to see his license plate number?"

"I saw a _lot_ of things, Bailey," replied Muffy, her voice weak but peevish. "My entire life flashed before my eyes, even the embarrassing parts."

"Stay here," said the dog man, unbuckling his seat belt. His gait nervous and unsteady, he paced back and forth on the asphalt, examining the streak-like scratches and cavernous dents left in his precious vehicle. The left side-view mirror had been completely shorn off, and the window cracked from top to bottom in a web-like pattern. "Egads," he grumbled under his breath. "My insurance company will have a devil of a time paying for this damage."

His young passenger unexpectedly came to his side. "He singled us out, Bailey," she said fearfully. "He knew my cell phone number. This was _personal_."

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," said Bailey.

"No, you didn't," was Muffy's response. "You told me stay here, and _this_ is here." A squad car with spinning blue and red lights whipped past them, its siren screaming.

* * *

While Muffy and Bailey were describing their experience to a highway patrolman, Fern was assisting Alan in the urgent labor of placing posters on poles and walls throughout their neighborhood. Each poster featured a photo of a Shih Tzu in a tiny wheelchair and the words, LOST DOG. The temperature was dropping, and they began to wish they had worn more than mere sweaters. Having dispensed with roughly one hundred sheets, they met in front of the Sugar Bowl entrance to exchange reports.

"I went all the way to Albertson High School and put one up on their bulletin board," said Fern. "I figured, since teenagers know everything, maybe one of them knows where the Professor is."

"I don't know what good this will do," said Alan darkly. "If he were anywhere nearby, he would've contacted me telepathically. I'm afraid he's either dead, or locked up in a kennel that's been lined with silver foil so his brainwaves can't get through."

"No kidding," marveled Fern. "Silver foil can do that?"

"According to George," said Alan, "silver foil can block _any_ kind of waves."

_Flashback_

George and his sister Sal sat lazily before the TV screen, George's head protected by a silvery helmet with holes that allowed his antlers to protrude.

"We'll return to _American Idol_ right after these messages," announced host Ryan Seacrest. "During the break, you might want to consider going to your refrigerator for a Coca-Cola drink, or if you're out of Coca-Cola drinks, hopping into your Ford Focus and driving to the convenience store to buy more Coca-Cola drinks."

Sal's eyes glazed over. Jumping up from the couch and stretching out her arms, she trudged toward the kitchen, muttering, "Must…drink…Coca-Cola…"

_End flashback_

Hand in hand once again, Fern and Alan wandered away from the Sugar Bowl, eager to go back to their warm houses. Less than a minute later, Raymond Mansch poked his head around the corner of the building, and, seeing that the two children were long gone, ventured to approach a nearby phone pole. Seeing a poster with the Professor's image, he unfastened it from the wooden pillar, held it in both hands, and gazed at it with a wistful smile.

* * *

When Francine returned to her apartment after a jaunt with the Reads, she was in the middle of enjoying a new and delightful sensation—the taste of a hot dog. A hot dog with mustard, ketchup, relish, and a _real_ weiner. _I've wasted my life_, she thought as she took another eager bite.

Her mother was the first to notice, first by smell, then by sight. "Francine Alice Frensky, what _are_ you eating?" she inquired sternly.

"It's a hot dog," replied the girl through a mouthful of food.

Mrs. Frensky set her parenting magazine aside, rose from the easy chair, and forcefully snatched the offending item from Francine's hand. "And I want you to go to the toilet and spit out the rest," she said while stuffing what remained of the hot dog through the hole leading to the garbage disposal.

Francine swallowed defiantly. "I'm not Jewish anymore," she informed her mother. "I don't have to eat kosher."

Her mother glared and pointed an accusing finger. "While you're living under our roof, you'll honor our values," she ordered.

"Values?" Francine shrugged. "Since when is it a value to not eat hot dogs?"

Mr. Frensky, having overheard the scolding, emerged from his room. "Pigs are unclean creatures," he said to his daughter. "That's what God said in the Torah."

"So what?" said Francine. "Cows are unclean too. They have flies crawling all over them, they walk around in their own poop…but we eat them anyway."

"That's different," said Mr. Frensky, his hands on his hips. "Cows have one purpose, pigs have another."

"Yeah?" said Francine boldly. "What's the purpose of pigs, then? To herd sheep?"

"Don't talk back to your father," Mrs. Frensky admonished her.

"That's right," said her husband confidently. "My word is law in this house."

"_Our_ word is law," his wife corrected him.

Mr. Frensky's expression turned sheepish. "Yes, dear."

"All right," said Francine, sounding a bit dejected. "It won't happen again…_in this house_."

"Hrmph," was all her father had to add.

Francine eyed him hopefully. "Now that that's out of the way," she said with haste, "can I be baptized a Christian?"

* * *

To be continued 


	10. Auntie Sue

In the home of Mr. and Mrs. Krantz, Binky and Sue Ellen gripped each other's hands tenderly as they watched a TV broadcast of the movie _To Kill a Mockingbird._

"Jem! Dill!" said Scout to her young friends. "There's an angry mob gathering at the courthouse. Let's hurry on over there and see what happens!"

As he watched the three children race down the streets of Depression-era Macon, Georgia, Binky shook his head incredulously. "I can't believe how much freedom those kids have," he remarked.

"Yeah," added Sue Ellen. "If I was their mom, I wouldn't let them run halfway across town in the middle of the night to watch a lynching, at least not alone."

They heard the kitchen phone ring. "Are you gonna answer that?" asked Binky.

"Naw," replied the cat girl. "I have adoptive parents to do that for me." _And gosh knows where my real parents are now_, she thought bitterly. _In the other reality we were all together, and I had everything I could want—good food, nice clothes, a hot boyfriend, and a planet to rule. I'd give anything to go back there._

Mrs. Krantz stepped hurriedly into the den, clutching a cordless receiver in her hand. "Sue Ellen? Binky?" she called out urgently.

"For the last time, it's just _Sue_, Mom," complained Sue.

"It's Muffy," the moose woman informed them. "She was coming back from a trip to Crown City, and somebody tried to run her off the road."

Binky's hair stood on end. Sue's curls straightened a little.

"Omigosh, are you serious?" said Binky in disbelief.

"Are you serious?" said Mrs. Krantz into the phone. "Yes, she's serious," she reported to Sue and Binky.

"This I've got to hear about," said Sue, rising to her feet. "Mom, Binky and I are going to Muffy's place in the dark without reflective clothing or adult supervision."

"That's fine, dear," said Mrs. Krantz. "Just be back by morning, okaaaay?"

Muffy, still defiantly wearing her optical fiber dress, made call after call on her mobile phone, inviting friends to listen to her harrowing tale. "I know I've been a snot lately, but it would sure be nice to have you visit, Francine," she said.

"I wish I could," the other girl replied, "but I have to help my mom and dad fix a hole in the ceiling, before our upstairs neighbors come home and fall through it."

"Sounds like a pretty big hole," said Muffy. "What happened?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," was Francine's response.

After hanging up, Muffy used her phone's speed-dial feature to contact her one-time classmate, Mavis Cutler. After a few rings she heard a weak, bashful girl's voice utter, "Hello?"

"Mavis, it's me, Muffy," she said eagerly. "I know we haven't talked in a while, but something totally scary happened to me today, and if you come over, I'll tell you all about it."

There was a short silence on the line. "I…I'm sorry, Muffy," said Mavis in a tone apparently devoid of hope. "I can't come."

"You can't?" said Muffy curiously. "Why not?"

"I just can't," was all Mavis could reply. "Goodbye, Muffy."

A few beeps signaled the end of the call. _She sounds miserable_, thought Muffy. _Maybe there was a death in her family. I'll follow up on it later. Hey…I've got voice mail!_

She hastily pressed a button to bring up her messages. A menacing and very familiar voice said to her, "Is your dress worth more to you than your life?"

Chilled to the bone, she exclaimed, "Who _are_ you?"

"End of message," uttered the ever-helpful female computer voice.

Muffy felt tendrils of pure fear grasping at her insides, and fought the urge to hurl the phone away from her. "Daddy! _Daddy!_" she almost screamed.

Seconds later Mr. Crosswire rushed in, wearing a green sweater. "What's wrong, Muffin?" he inquired.

"He called me again!" cried the nearly-hysterical monkey girl. "It was the same man…the man who was driving the other car! He asked me if my dress is worth more than my life!"

She noticed a slight pallor in her father's visage, followed soon after by an angry redness. "That bastard," he grumbled, mostly to himself. "Nobody threatens my little girl. I'll show him what _his_ life's worth!"

Muffy briefly probed her cell phone's many buttons. "Daddy, how do I delete the message without having to listen to it again?" she asked earnestly. "Or do I have to get a new phone?" Mr. Crosswire, pacing about and cursing quietly, seemed to not hear her query.

Shortly her friends began to file in—first George, then Sue and Binky, with Beat, Arthur, and D.W. coming close behind. The Crosswire condo turned into a buzzing hive of questions: "What did the driver look like?" "How much will it cost to fix Bailey's car?" "How fast was he going?" "What do you think will happen on _Heroes?_"

"I'm just happy to still be alive," said Muffy to her companions. "This near-death drama has helped me to better appreciate the simple things in my life, like…er, ah…my hair, and stuff."

"We're glad you're alive too," said Beat. "However, I suggest you seriously ponder the question of whether keeping your space dress is worth the danger to your life."

Muffy glared peevishly at the rabbit-aardvark girl. "What would you have me do, hand it over to that awful Mr. Gelt? I'd rather die! Painlessly."

"Whatever you do, don't let it fall into his hands," George warned her. "There can be one reason, and one reason alone, why he wants the dress so badly—so he can make copies of it, and sell them to all the girls in America, and secretly record their shopping habits through electronic means. With that knowledge at his disposal, there'll be nothing to stop him from seizing control of the world's economy!"

"Oh, puh-leeze," said Sue mockingly. "You are _such_ a nerd, George. Do you mind if I call you Nerdgren from now on?"

The moose boy shrugged. "Sure, go ahead."

Beat stared in shock at the cat girl. "What's happened to you?" she asked. "Ever since you got together with Binky, you've been so disagreeable…so _rude._"

Sue only smirked at her. "Well, she's not herself," Binky explained. "In fact, she's an anti-Sue from a parallel universe where the Yordilians conquered Earth—that's what she told me, anyway."

"Cool," said D.W. with a grin. "Can we call her Auntie Sue?"

In another room, Mr. Crosswire pulled off his sweater and lowered himself onto the king-size mattress where his wife lay, waiting for her hair to dry. Looking up from the romance novel in her hands, she inquired, "How are you doing, Ed?"

He shook his head dolefully. "As well as might be expected," he answered, "seeing that my daughter's respect for me is built on a web of deceit."

* * *

To be continued 


	11. Blind to the Truth

Muffy spent the night tossing, turning, and sighing with relief. She tossed and turned while dreaming that she had been bound to a railroad track by a sneering villain with a top hat and handlebar moustache, and she sighed with relief while dreaming that her heroic father was slicing the ropes and rescuing her from the oncoming Orient Express. In the morning, she awoke with very little fear remaining of the stranger who had threatened her and Bailey the previous day. _My daddy has things well in hand_, she thought with confidence.

School began much like it did every Monday, with a session of show and tell. The first to participate was Buster, who had carefully placed a large carrot on a platform. "Behold my latest invention," he told the other students, "a robotic carrot."

"Robotic?" said Fern incredulously. "All it does is sit there."

"Yeah," said Buster proudly. "Lifelike, isn't it?"

Francine also had something to contribute. "This is my first Bible," she said, flashing the leather-bound tome in front of her classmates. "Now that I'm a Christian, I'm going to read from it every day. I don't know if I'll read the whole thing, since the reverend tells me the best parts are near the end."

"Whoa, hold on," Binky chimed in. "You're not serious about this, are you?"

"I sure am," said the monkey girl with a grin.

"You'd better think about it some more," Binky advised her. "I mean, isn't there a law against changing your religion more than once?"

The other kids chuckled. "Actually, Binky," the teacher interjected, "the First Amendment to the Constitution gives you the right to change your religious beliefs as many times as you want."

"I have an idea," Arthur spoke up. "Why not be Christian _and_ Jewish at the same time?"

"That's crazy," said Francine. "The Christians wouldn't accept me, and the Jews wouldn't accept me either."

"The Unitarians would accept you," said Beat.

Mrs. Krantz proceeded to announce the program for first period. "As you may know, ambassadors from the Interstellar Alliance will visit New York City this weekend. The Alliance is a lot like the United Nations, except that it has member planets instead of member nations, and they actually agree on things from time to time. For today's creative writing exercise, I'd like each one of you to write an answer to the question, 'If I were an alien, what kind of alien would I be?' Sue, since you _are_ an alien, I'd like you to write about how being an alien makes you feel different from other kids. Are there any questions?"

There were no questions, so the kids started to write in earnest. Sue, for her part, jotted down, "When I found out from my real parents that I was a Yordilian, I was totally shocked. I worried that my friends would treat me like some kind of space invader, but they didn't. Instead they treated me like someone special, and after a while, I realized that I _was_ someone special. As I learned more about life on the planet Yordil, I realized that the Yordilians were a lot more advanced than the people of Earth, and that I should be proud that I was one of them. When the Yordilians invaded Earth, I wasn't sure what to do at first, and I thought and thought for a long time. Finally, I..." She paused and weighted what she would write next. "...I helped stop the invasion, because my friends on Earth may be only humans, but they're still great friends." _I am such a good liar_, she flattered herself.

George, who was feeling rather uncreative, wrote a detailed description of Jenny, his missing friend from the planet Kressida. "...and when she talks, it's like three people talking at the same time," he concluded. As he put down his pencil, he recalled that the purpose of the exercise was to describe the kind of alien _he_ would want to be. _Oh, crud_, he thought, slapping his forehead.

The center court of Lakewood Elementary buzzed with activity as first period gave way to second. Muffy, still stubbornly sporting her optical fiber dress, wandered toward the drinking fountain, only to be confronted by an odd sight--little James McDonald, his eyes glassy, his arms stretched out. "Unnnggghhh," moaned the rabbit boy as he lunged at her and pressed his dingy-looking hands against her belly.

"Ewww," said Muffy, backing away. "What's _your_ problem?"

James smiled playfully. "I touched you," he explained. "Now you're a zombie."

Muffy scowled. "Hmph! First-graders and their silly games."

Elsewhere, Alan and some of his classmates, including Mickie and Marina, were discussing what they had heard. "I don't think the Alliance is like the United Nations at all," the boy opined. "The U.N. is basically a place where the nations get together and settle their differences, but in the Alliance, the planets don't really _have_ differences."

"You're right, Alan," said Mickie. "Not only that, but the U.N. was founded on the notion of interdependence--that what happens in one country can spill over and affect other countries. But a civil war on Planet X can't affect Planet Y, because the two planets are light-years apart."

"What do you think, Marina?" Alan asked the blind rabbit girl.

"Er...ah..." she stammered. "I...don't really have anything to say. I yield the floor to you, Alan."

She walked slowly away, tapping the tiled floor with the end of her cane. _If only I could see, I'd teach those brainiacs a thing or two_, she thought bitterly.

As she made her way down a corridor, her ears picked up a familiar voice uttering, "Hello? Hello?"

"Hello, Muffy," she responded in a friendly tone.

"Oh, it's you, Marina," spoke Muffy's voice through the darkness. "I wasn't talking to you. I'm trying to reach Mrs. Cutler on my cell phone, but she's too busy seeing patients to answer my calls."

"Mrs. Cutler?" said Marina, curious. "You mean Mavis's mom?"

Muffy nodded. "Yeah, that's who I'm talking about. I called Mavis yesterday, and she sounded totally down and...wait a minute, how do _you_ know Mavis?"

_Oops_, thought Marina. "Well, I..." she started to say.

"Are you friends with her?" Muffy inquired. "I had no idea."

"Er, yes," said the rabbit girl. "I met her at the Braille school."

"What's she doing at the Braille school?" Muffy asked her. "Teaching? Volunteering? I didn't know she was into that."

She watched a somber expression dawn over the blind girl's face.

"She asked me not to tell any of her friends," said Marina, her voice breaking, her eyes tearing up. "But I can't lie to you, Muffy. Mavis isn't teaching Braille. She's _learning_ it."

* * *

to be continued


	12. Mob Ties

"Mavis has a disease called Retinitis Pigmentosa," Marina explained to the astonished Muffy. "It causes progressive loss of vision, and there's no cure. She's almost completely blind now."

The girl in the alien dress stammered in disbelief. "But…but she seemed fine a month ago, when she went trick-or-treating with us," she recalled.

Marina sniffled and reached for a handkerchief to wipe her cheeks. "A month ago she still had some tunnel vision left," she explained. "She could read if she wore special glasses, but now she can't read at all."

Her fists clenched, Muffy tried to block out the rabbit girl's words with anger. _Mavis going blind? It's impossible! I would've known!_

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you," said Marina. "She hates it when people feel sorry for her, so she…"

"Well, of _course_ people will feel sorry for her," said Muffy, outraged. "What does she expect them to do, _celebrate?_"

Her outburst left Marina at a loss for words.

"I want to see her," said Muffy with resolve. "I'll bet she could use a little reassuring right about now."

"Reassuring?" said Marina, consternation replacing sorrow in her tone. "Reassure her of _what?_"

Muffy tried to speak cheerfully, even though her heart was pained. "She needs to be reassured that life's still worth living, even without the gift of sight. She needs to be reassured that blind people are valued members of society. She needs to…"

"You've never _been_ blind, have you, Muffy?" Marina interrupted her. "Mavis doesn't need any of that. She just wants to be treated like a normal girl."

This time Muffy was the speechless one.

"If you _do_ visit her," said Marina sagely, "try not to draw attention to her blindness. Just talk to her like you always do."

* * *

"So," said Muffy, "have you checked out the Backstreet Boys yet?"

Sitting next to her was the saddest, thinnest Mavis Cutler she had ever seen. The hamster girl's curly red locks were disheveled. Her glasses, no longer of any use, were absent, and her beady, unfocused amber eyes were exposed. Her discouraged frown suggested to Muffy that she had spent the entire day moping, without even pausing for meals.

Mavis took a deep breath, and Muffy expected her to start bemoaning her fate. Instead, she stated, "Yes, I listened to one of their albums, and I decided they weren't very good."

"Hmm," said Muffy, a bit surprised by her response. "Well, I admit they can't hold a candle to Nine Inch Noses, but you won't find a better boy band on Earth, that's for sure."

"What's Nine Inch Noses?" Mavis inquired.

"Nine Inch Noses," Muffy told her, "is only the coolest band in the entire _universe._ When I saw them perform in Elci Kahaf, it was like having a sugar rush and an out-of-body experience at the same time. The drummer had four arms, the guitarist had sixteen fingers, and one of the musicians had some kind of telepathic instrument that made me think they were singing _my_ name over and over. It was like, Muuuffyyy…Muuuffyyy…Muuuffyyy…"

Mavis relaxed her head against the back of the couch. "Most kids fantasize about traveling to another planet," she said thoughtfully. "Not me. I fantasize about being a congresswoman, or a scientist, or an animal trainer, or a mom with six kids. I've always thought, why fantasize about something that'll never, ever come true?" She sighed. "But now it's different—now I actually have a friend who's been to another planet. Maybe it's time to revise my fantasies."

As she watched the hamster girl's face light up, Muffy felt an urge to darken the mood. "You know, Mavis," she said, "for a kid who's gonna be blind for the rest of her life, you sure seem happy."

"Who said anything about being blind for the rest of my life?" said the unruffled Mavis. "Scientists are working on a cure for RP even as we speak. It may take a year, or it may take twenty years. I can wait."

_She's in stage 1—denial_, thought Muffy. _I'd better split before she reaches stage 2—anger._

"My mom tells me that retinal implant surgery may restore vision in at least one of my eyes," Mavis went on. "But we can't afford the surgery, because our insurance doesn't cover it."

Muffy felt a twinge of compassion as she gazed into her friend's nearly sightless eyes. "I wish the Crosswires could help somehow," she said earnestly, "but we can't raise as much money now as we could in the good old days."

"Don't sweat it," said Mavis. "It's the thought that counts."

Muffy's mother, who stood in the front lawn engaged in idle chat with Mrs. Cutler, was alerted by the sound of an incoming call. "Excuse me, please," she said, picking up her cell phone while stepping under a bare tree for privacy.

"Mrs. Crosswire, I'm Lieutenant Mazzetti of the CCPD," she heard a stern male voice speak. "Is this a good time?"

"Of course," she replied.

"Based on Mr. Bailey's description of the car and the driver," the police lieutenant continued, "we were able to determine that the car was stolen, and that the driver was most likely one Bartholomew Griffith, a convicted felon with suspected ties to the Crown City Mafia."

She felt a cold shiver run down her back. "Thank you for letting me know, Lieutenant," she said calmly into the phone.

"I hope I haven't alarmed you, ma'am," said the officer.

"Not at all," said Mrs. Crosswire. "Call me again when you have more details."

She folded up the phone and resumed her conversation with Mrs. Cutler. "You're kidding me…the pineapple goes on the bottom instead of on the top? No wonder my upside-down cake turned out so badly."

* * *

To be continued 


	13. Mano a Mano

Mr. and Mrs. Frensky hadn't heard such a squeal of intense delight from Francine's mouth since she was a toddler. Suspicious that she might be doing something illegal or immoral, they rose up from their afternoon nap, yawned in unison, and trudged toward the living room. Their little girl was on the couch, her feet elevated above her head, a telephone receiver pressed against her ear.

"That's just wonderful, Pokey!" she gushed. "I can't wait to show you around my apartment, and introduce you to my cat and all my friends. Do you like ice cream? There's this great place called the Sugar Bowl where we hang out after school. Oh, and I have this friend named Beatrice, and we all call her Beat, and she's really smart but she doesn't believe in anything, so I'm thinking you could have a one-on-one chat with her."

Pokey's voice, like the voice of an angel, uttered calm, authoritative words to her. "I look forward to meeting your friends," he said. "I've spoken to many Beatrices before—people who think nothing is of value unless it can be seen with the eyes and grasped with the hands. What they have to understand is that no matter how much knowledge they gain, they're still under sin and need the grace of God."

"Well, she _seems_ happy enough," remarked Francine. "But she can't possibly be as happy as we are, since she doesn't know what we know."

Mrs. Frensky looked aside at her husband, whose face was turning a bright shade of red. She glanced upward at the drywall patch over the hole in the ceiling and thought, _Here we go again._

"I'll have to clear my visit with your parents," said Pokey over the phone line.

"Not a problem," said Francine, grinning. "I mean, you're the guy who rescued me from the kidnapper. What reason do they have to _not_ like you?"

"Did you hear that, Oliver?" said Mrs. Frensky to her seething spouse. "Frankie's hero is coming to see us." With more than a hint of uncertainty she added, "Isn't that _nice?_"

Francine lowered the receiver. "Is it okay, Mom? Dad?" she asked hopefully. "Can Pokey visit us?"

Mr. Frensky closed his eyes and mouthed the numbers one through ten. As the redness drained from his cheeks, he said placidly, "I'd like to talk to Mr. Polk."

"Okay," said Francine, seizing the phone once again. "Here's my dad, Pokey."

Her mother let out a sigh of relief as her father reached for the receiver. _Maybe he won't need that anger management course after all_, she thought.

Mr. Frensky spoke with aplomb. "I'm Francine's father," he told Pokey. "Tell me, when are you planning to be in Elwood City?"

"On Saturday," the man replied. "I hope I'm not imposing."

"Not at all," said Mr. Frensky. "We'd love to have you. However, there _is_ one condition."

Francine and her mother gaped, uncertain of what they would hear.

"What condition is that?" asked Pokey.

Mr. Frensky drew a deep breath. "Like I said," he went on, "I'm Francine's father. I'm the man who should be influencing the path of her life—_not you_, Mr. Polk."

"It was never my intention to…" Pokey started to say.

"We have a situation here," said Mr. Frensky with growing menace in his voice. "Just because you happened to be in the right place at the right time, my daughter now looks up to you as a heroic figure. She wants to walk like you, talk like you, eat like you, listen to your music, and worst of all, join your religion."

"I'm sorry if that offends you," said Pokey contritely, "but…"

"_Offends_ me?" snapped Mr. Frensky. "Mr. Polk, my daughter means the world to me, and I'll be damned if I let a nobody like you steal away the love and respect she should rightfully feel for her father. So you can come to Elwood City, and you can even enter our home…but the minute you do, you and I are going to have it out."

His wife gasped in horror. "Oliver!" she exclaimed.

"Mom," said Francine meekly, "is he saying what I _think_ he's saying?"

Pokey's voice was now filled with incredulous indignation. "You can't be serious, Mr. Frensky. Fisticuffs never resolved anything. There are other, more civilized ways to settle our differences."

"If I were a smart man, I'd look for one," said the angry father. "So, will you take me on in a fair fight, or would you rather crawl away and hide, and show my daughter what a poor excuse for a hero you really are?"

His face became flushed again as he awaited Pokey's response. "I don't want to hurt you, Mr. Frensky," he finally heard. "And trust me, I'm very capable of hurting you. I don't like to boast, but while I was in prison, I killed a man with my bare hands."

Pokey's claim sent a shock through his heart, but it was quickly forgotten. "Saturday it is, then," he said cockily. "And after I've ground you to a pulp, my wife will treat you to a bowl of her famous matzoh balls."

After a tense silence, Pokey said, "May I talk to Francine now?"

Without another word, Mr. Frensky passed the phone to his daughter, who lay back on the couch and began to speak. "I'm sorry my dad was so rude to you, Pokey. So…are you gonna fight him or not?"

"I don't know," was the reply. "It's not the Christian thing to do, but then again, he _did_ call my honor into question."

* * *

Jenny gazed up at the crystalline ceiling of the cell in which she was being held. Unaccustomed to Earth's rotation, she had no idea if it was day or night on the surface. She also had no idea how long she would remain a prisoner of the strange horned people, only two of which she had seen in person. _I miss George and Sal_, she thought as she rested on the hard platform. _I miss pizza and ice cream. Most of all, I miss the attention I get for being an alien._

The metal door made a sound like creaking pulleys as it slid open. Into the dark cell strode Guida von Horstein, having eschewed her blue robe in favor of a white silk dress with a knee-length skirt. "Good news, Jenny," she said cheerfully. "You're free. We're letting you go." In one hand she gripped an unseen object that emitted an eerie glow through the cracks between her fingers.

"So that's it," said Jenny, sitting up wearily. "Not even an apology."

"What would be the point?" said Mrs. von Horstein, her smile unbroken. "However, I do have a lovely parting gift for you."

The unicorn woman opened her hand, and Jenny laid her eyes on a marvelous bauble. The sphere, roughly the size of a golf ball, was surrounded by a pale green aura from which she had difficulty looking away. "It _is_ lovely," she said, astonished to the point that she seemed to speak with _four_ voices instead of the usual three.

"It's also extremely valuable," Guida assured her. "Think of it as compensation."

Jenny picked up the sphere and cradled it in her slender fingers. "It must be worth millions of Earth dollars," she remarked. "You're not trying to bribe me into joining your cause, are you?"

"Again, what would be the point?" said the unicorn. "When the time comes, you'll join our cause because you know it's the right thing to do."

* * *

The image of Muffy's face on the front of her dress faded and disappeared as she pulled it over her head. Once changed into her nightgown, she climbed under the comforter and awaited her mother's attention.

"Sleep tight, Muffin," said Mrs. Crosswire lovingly. As she lifted the covers to hide Muffy's neck, she noticed her daughter's glum look. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Muffy sighed plaintively. "I've been wondering about a lot of things, Mommy," she stated. "Why am I me, instead of somebody else? And what the heck does 'sleep tight' mean?"

Her mother chuckled quietly. "I honestly don't know what it means," was her answer. "But the first question's easy. If you were somebody else, then somebody else would be you, so you would still be you."

"Thanks, Mommy," said Muffy a bit grudgingly as she closed her eyes.

Yet her scowl was still present. "I'm sorry, Muffin," said Mrs. Crosswire in an attempt to console her. "If we could afford to help Mavis, we would, but your father's business isn't bringing in as much money as it did before."

"That's just great, Mom," said Muffy bitterly. "But what if I was Mavis? What if I was going blind, and needed surgery, but no one could help me, because no one was rich enough?"

Her mother's response was to tenderly stroke her unbraided hair. "You'll only lose sleep if you worry about such things. You're not Mavis, and you're not going blind. Good night, Muffin."

She straightened up and extinguished the light, but as she was leaving the bedroom, Muffy's earnest voice stopped her. "You know, Mom," said the girl, "if I could help Mavis by giving up my space dress, I think I'd do it."

"That's nice, dear," said Mrs. Crosswire.

The room became silent and dark. _Yeah, I'd totally do it_, thought Muffy as sleep began to overwhelm her. _That's just the kind of person I am._

* * *

The blindfold was removed from Jenny's eyes, and she found herself in the moonlight, surrounded by yellow-leaved chestnut trees. _I'm lost, and I'm up way past my bedtime_, she thought, glancing this way and that for a sign of anything familiar.

She could make out the lights of a neighborhood in the distance, so she began to walk in their direction, all the while caressing the mysterious, shiny bauble in her hand. After only half a dozen steps, she heard a noise that was very close and very disturbing—the sound of a revolver being cocked.

She froze in mid-step. To her left stood Raymond Mansch, his arm rigid, the gun in his hand pointed squarely at her artichoke-shaped head.

"Hand over the sphere," he ordered.

* * *

To be continued 


	14. X Pets: The Last Stand

The fact that a man was holding her at gunpoint didn't surprise Jenny as much as the fact that it had taken so _long_ to happen; judging from the many movies she had watched, she supposed it was a commonplace occurrence on Earth. _James Bond would know what to do in this situation_, she thought. _Heck, even James Hound would have a plan. But I'm just poor, defenseless Ablukablikapelifrotz a.k.a. Jenny. I'd better do what he says._

"Please don't hurt me," she said meekly as she raised her arms to the darkened sky.

To her surprise, not only did the man with the revolver not hurt her, but he _lowered_ the gun until it was level with his hip. His expression one of befuddlement, he looked down at his weapon, then back at Jenny, as if he was equally surprised at what he had done.

_Run first, ask questions later_, thought the alien girl, and she sprinted away at full speed. The trees flew past her, the street lights glowed brighter, the dry weeds bent beneath her bare feet, and her bronchial implants worked doubly hard to provide her lungs with the methane they needed. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that the threatening cat man hadn't moved, but was only staring helplessly after her.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, the dogs appeared. There were at least seven, as she could tell from the light of her orb reflecting eerily off their eyes. Growling fiercely, they formed a phalanx between the Kressidan girl and the nearby houses. The leaders of the pack of beasts, or at least the two closest to her, were a mottled greyhound on the left and a pit bull with incredibly long, sharp-looking claws on the right.

_Looks like every man and his dog are trying to steal my sphere_, thought Jenny. _Fortunately, my sole alien power is perfectly suited for a predicament like this._ She aimed her unclothed elbows at the approaching dogs, and the skin flaps on their tips opened up to reveal a pair of nozzle-like protrusions. _Eat musk, you savages!_

A gaseous substance spurted from her elbows, filling the night air with an odor so foul that even she, herself, winced and turned her olfactory organ away. While her eyes were averted, however, the unicorn orb was torn from her fingers with such force that she had no chance to tighten her grip. When she looked again, the air was still as fetid as before, but the canine mob was nowhere to be seen. Even the sound of scampering paws was absent.

_Okay, that was just weird_, Jenny told herself. _People with horns sticking out of their foreheads, weird shiny orbs, and dogs who appear and disappear…it's like I'm on another planet or something._

More than half an hour later, the Nordgren family was aroused from slumber by a strong knock on their door. The man of the house snorted, pulled his covers away, and sat up. "I'll get that," he grumbled.

"Carl, _no!_" his wife protested. "It could be the Salvation Army!"

"We _trust _the Salvation Army, dear," said Mr. Nordgren as he yanked a sweater down over his antlers.

He reached the front door at the same time as his two pajama-clad children, only to discover that their visitor had already let herself inside.

"Jenny!" all three exclaimed in thrilled unison.

The Kressidan girl leaned against a wall, panting heavily. Her skin had begun to take on the same waxy appearance as when she had fallen sick from the Yordilian pathogen.

"Are you all right?" asked Mr. Nordgren with concern. "You look like you've been running for miles."

Jenny shook her head. "I _feel_ like I've been running for miles," she informed the moose man, "but it was really only a few blocks. There's a limit to how quickly my implants can convert your oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere into a form I can use."

George grimaced and waved his hand in front of his nose. "What's that _smell?_" he complained.

"Ewww," said his sister Sal in disgust. "It's like skunk poop, only ten times worse."

"It's coming from me," Jenny explained sheepishly. "I never told you about my musk glands, did I?"

All desire for sleep was lost as the Nordgrens, armed with flashlights, followed Jenny to the chestnut grove where she had faced Mansch and the dogs. "Much like your Earth skunk, Kressidan females have a natural, odor-based defense mechanism," related the alien girl as she marched along. "It's useful not only for scaring off wild animals, but also for expressing to a Kressidan male in no uncertain terms that I'm not interested in him."

"That's crazy," remarked George. "What if you can't control it, and it goes off when you don't want it to, like, when you're at school?"

"That's never happened to me," replied Jenny. "It happens to some girls, however. We call girls like that _muskies_."

"What can they do about it?" inquired Mrs. Nordgren. "Are they doomed to live as social outcasts?"

"No," was the alien's answer. "They can have their glands surgically extracted, but that carries a stigma of its own. A lot of girls get their glands removed to make themselves more attractive to boys, so any girl who does it, for whatever reason, is assumed to have loose morals, like your Earth slut."

They entered the woods, and Jenny had no trouble identifying the spot where the dogs had confronted her, even in the darkness. The Nordgrens, shining their flashlights, gasped when they saw the state in which the general area had been left—huge ruts torn out of the ground, trees knocked over as if by a hurricane, and even what appeared to be electrical burns in the grass. "It's like someone fought a war here," commented Mrs. Nordgren.

"Look!" cried Sal, pointing.

They all ran toward the awful scene—two dogs lying prostrate in the dirt, completely still, with no observable sign of breath.

Mr. Nordgren carefully scanned one of the fallen dogs with his light; it was a golden retriever, its coat matted with blood. George, Sal, and their mother examined the other, a greyhound whose lacerated chest was barely quivering with life.

"This one's dead," the moose man announced.

His wife pressed her hand against the greyhound's neck and sensed a faint beat. "She's still alive," she told her husband. "We'd better get her to a veterinarian, quickly."

* * *

Once certain that the injured greyhound was receiving care, the Nordgrens returned to their home and their beds. As morning dawned, George and Sal prepared for school as if all was normal.

At the Powers residence, Alan was stuffing his book bag and Tegan had just slipped into her sandals when their mother, phone in hand, called to them with news. "They found Raymond Mansch," she reported. "He's at the hospital. He's been hurt."

At about the same time, Arthur and D.W. left their house side by side, initiating another trek to Lakewood Elementary. D.W., as she passed by Pal's doghouse, noticed something odd, and knelt down to peer inside. The little dog's face was a mask of frustration. Caught between his jaws was a round, luminescent object the likes of which D.W. had never seen, and Pal was apparently focusing his efforts on crushing the thing with his teeth.

"Where'd you find _that_, Pal?" asked D.W., curiously inserting her hand. "Here, let me take it before you choke."

* * *

To be continued 


	15. Crybaby

The drive to school was a talkative one for Alan, Tegan, and their mother. "Mom," requested Alan, "after school Tegan and I would like to visit Mr. Mansch at the hospital."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" said Mrs. Powers. "From the way you described him, he sounds like a dangerous fellow."

"We're just curious," said Tegan. "We want to know how he was cured of his brain wipe."

"Brain wipe?" said her mother, who was adjusting the heater knob for comfort. "That sounds like something out of a science fiction story."

"So does _subdural hematoma_," said Tegan, "which is the theory the doctors are currently basing their studies on."

Afraid that the conversation would rise above the level of her head, Mrs. Powers changed the subject to something lighter. "Are you looking forward to your second day of high school?" she asked her teenage daughter.

Tegan moaned slightly. "High school's a good way to make friends my own age," she remarked, "but the homework I was assigned to do is so…so _stupid_."

"It may seem that way," said Mrs. Powers helpfully, "but remember, you're the only student there with a genius IQ."

"I'm serious, Mom," said Tegan, pulling a thin, glossy magazine from her coat pocket. "They gave me this workbook full of multiple-choice questions. Listen to this one: _Have you ever lied about your age to get a drink? (a) Yes (b) No (c) Who wants to know?_"

"Let _me_ see that," said Alan, grabbing a corner of the magazine between his fingers. To his astonishment, the page to which Tegan was referring had the following banner at the top:

_Are you Lindsay Lohan? Take our quiz and find out!_

"This isn't homework, Tegan," said Alan, shaking his head. "This is some silly teen magazine." He glanced at the opposing page, on which was printed a letter to an advice columnist: _Dear Ashley: I just found out that my new boyfriend is a science geek. Should I break up with him now, or pretend to be busy until he loses interest?_

"Are you sure, Alan?" said Tegan, a bit confused. "Because my new friend Melinda told me that I _totally_ had to read this."

* * *

"I can't _believe_ you challenged Mr. Polk to a fistfight," said Mrs. Frensky for the seventeenth time. Since waking up.

Francine, who was busily organizing her school bag (which now contained a Bible in an easy-to-reach location), paused to look up at her father. "You are _so_ gonna get your butt kicked, Dad," she said playfully.

"Ahem," said Mr. Frensky with his usual gruffness. "Shouldn't you be cheering for your father, and not for some stranger?"

"Pokey isn't a stranger anymore," said Francine, tossing the bag over her shoulder. "Besides, Jesus said that a stranger's just a friend you haven't met."

"If you love Jesus so much, why don't you marry him?" said her father.

"Is he _single?_" said Francine eagerly.

* * *

Arthur gazed thoughtfully at the glowing orb lying in D.W.'s palm. "Are you sure it's not a meteor or something?" he wondered aloud.

"It's too small to be a meteor," said D.W. sagely. "Maybe it's a _comet_." Pal whimpered at her feet, as if pleading for another chance to chew the sphere to pieces.

"Can I hold it for a second?" asked Arthur, extending his hand.

"Finders keepers, losers weepers," said D.W. petulantly.

To her surprise, Arthur's eyes filled up to the brim with tears. An instant later he began to sob uncontrollably.

"Oh, all right," said D.W., placing the orb in her brother's hand. "Yeesh! There's nothing worse than seeing a boy cry."

"Thanks," blubbered Arthur, using his free fingers to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Second's up," said D.W. "Can I have it back now?"

With the strange sphere stowed in her pocket, she followed her older brother to the elementary school, where they found George and Sal arriving from the other direction. "Hi, George," said Arthur. "What's up?"

"Oh, this and that," replied the moose boy. "Jenny came back, and we found an injured dog."

"Jenny's back?" said Arthur, amazed. "Where did she go?"

"What kind of dog?" asked D.W.

"I don't know," said George to Arthur. "A greyhound," he said to D.W.

"Not a greyhound named Jean, I hope," said Arthur as he yanked open one of the metal doors.

George stopped in his tracks as he was entering the school. "How did you know?" he blurted out.

"Huh?" said Arthur. "Know what?"

"That was the name on her collar—Jean Greyhound," George informed him.

Arthur and D.W. looked at each other with concern.

"Do you know this dog?" asked George earnestly. "Do you know the people who own her?"

Both brother and sister nodded tentatively.

"Then you'd better get in touch with her owners," George advised them. "The veterinarian says she's gonna need major surgery, or she won't make it."

* * *

To be continued 


	16. Zombies!

"Jean Greyhound's hurt?" said Arthur in astonished disbelief. "How? When?"

George shrugged. "I'm not sure. There was some sort of fight. We found another dog on the scene that was dead."

"Tell us everything, George," said Arthur insistently.

The moose boy described his family's nocturnal trek in detail, to the growing dismay of Arthur and D.W. "This sounds pretty serious," said Arthur, shaking his head slowly. "Anyone who can defeat the X-Pets _that_ badly…"

"The X-_whats?_" said George.

"I'll explain," offered Arthur, and a bell suddenly rang. "_After_ first period."

Little did Arthur and George suspect that the break between first and second period would bring with it more questions than answers…

* * *

"And that's why you should brush your teeth after every meal," said Mrs. Frensky to her first-grade charges. "Does anyone have a question for Tabitha the Talking Tooth?"

"Yeah," said Nadine, raising her hand. "Are you related to Tina the Talking Tabby?"

"No," replied the white, fuzzy sock puppet on the teacher's hand, "but I knew Tina back when she was popular. By the following Christmas she had disappeared from the store shelves, and I never saw her again."

"Now let's all enjoy five minutes of playtime," said Mrs. Frensky in her own voice.

"But I want _ten_ minutes of playtime," complained Tabitha the Taking Tooth.

"You get _five_ minutes of playtime because first period ends in five minutes," said the teacher sternly. "T'sokay?"

"T'saright," said the tooth.

After a few minutes of collaborative coloring, D.W., Nadine, Tommy, Timmy, Emily, Vicita, James, and the other children began to suggest more exciting activities. "Let's all rub glue in our hair," said Tommy. "Let's play catch with D.W.'s weird-looking ball," proposed Timmy.

"Let's play Zombies again," said James in a squeaky voice. Most of the other pupils cheered with delight.

"How do you play Zombies?" asked Nadine. "I was sick yesterday."

"It's easy," said D.W. As her left hand idly rolled the strange sphere around inside her pocket, she explained, "I pick one of you to be a zombie, and then you have to walk around like a zombie and touch people, and everybody you touch turns into a zombie, and everybody _they_ touch turns into a zombie, and so on."

"How do zombies walk?" inquired Emily.

"Like this!" said Vicita, lumbering about with her arms outstretched.

"And they groan a lot," James added. "Uuuunnngghhhh…"

"Sounds like fun," said Nadine gleefully. "Can I be the first zombie?"

"Sure," said D.W., gently tapping her shoulder. "You're it."

Without a second's hesitation, the squirrel girl stuck out her arms and walked forward in a stiff, robotic manner. "Urgh," she mumbled. "Uuuurrgghhh…"

"Everybody run!" cried James. "Nadine's a zombie!"

Nearly all of the children shrieked and ran to the corners of the classroom, hoping to avoid the clutches of the mindlessly marching Nadine. "Hey, you're pretty good," said D.W. to her friend. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

"Uuurrrghh," was Nadine's only response.

"Settle down, kids," cautioned Mrs. Frensky. "I don't want you running into each other."

Nadine, seemingly attracted by the woman's voice, swiveled and began to trudge in her direction. D.W. deftly hopped out of her path as she approached the teacher's desk, moaning flatly. Mrs. Frensky only grinned as Nadine lunged forward and made hand-to-leg contact with her.

Then…she stopped grinning.

* * *

Upon leaving Mrs. Krantz's room, Fern accosted Muffy for a serious talk. "I'm worried about you," said the poodle girl. "The people who tried to steal your dress _will_ strike again. You've got to put it in a safe place, or hide it…but you can't keep wearing it everywhere you go."

Muffy responded with a carefree smile. "After today, the dress will no longer be my problem," she boasted. "I'm going to contribute it to a worthy cause."

"_What_ cause?" asked Fern stubbornly.

"I was hoping to make it a surprise," said Muffy. "But if you absolutely _have_ to know, then meet me at Mavis Cutler's house tonight at 7 o'clock. You remember how to get there, don't you?"

"Actually," said Fern, "I don't."

As Muffy prepared to recite the directions, she noticed an odd, but not entirely unexpected, scene transpiring outside the entrance to Mrs. Frensky's classroom. Nadine, Vicita, Tommy, Timmy, Emily, D.W., James, and every one of their classmates were stumbling about, waving their arms frighteningly and making guttural noises. Odder still, Mrs. Frensky _herself_ was participating in the charade, her eyes looking bizarrely empty.

"What's _that_ all about?" wondered Fern as she watched the zombie-like children spread out through the center court.

"It's that stupid game they play," Muffy told her. "Mrs. Frensky really _shouldn't_ be encouraging them, if you ask me." She waved playfully at the groaning mob. "Hey, zombies! Over here!"

Out of the pack, only D.W. and James responded to her taunt. "Must…eat…brains…of living," grumbled D.W. as she marched their way. James, for his part, merely trudged after D.W. and uttered nothing but moans.

"They're coming to get you, Barbara," said Muffy to Fern in a mocking tone.

D.W. arrived first, poking her fingers into Muffy's midsection. An irresistible urge seized the monkey girl's mind, and her hands shot up so quickly that one of them slapped Fern on the chin.

"Ow!" was the last thing Fern managed to say before she too was compelled to waddle away with her arms pointing forward.

D.W. stopped, lowered her hands, and watched in bemusement as Muffy and Fern trudged away, groaning eerily. "Whoa," she remarked to the unresponsive James. "I had no idea this game was so popular!"

* * *

To be continued 


	17. More Zombies!

Rattles stood rigidly in a hallway, his arm pointed to the side. Toward him walked Marina, her cane tapping on the floor. Molly watched breathlessly from behind a row of lockers. Marina continued to approach, thoroughly unaware that Rattles' arm was hanging in the path of her face. Molly struggled to keep from giggling.

Just as the space between Marina's eyes and the sleeve of Rattles' coat could be measured in millimeters, Rattles quickly yanked his arm away. The rabbit girl walked on, none the wiser.

Molly burst into laughter. "That was _hilarious_," she commended him. "But I dare you to do it in full view of the principal."

Rattles' eyes widened suddenly. "Cool it, Molly. Mrs. Frensky's coming this way."

The first-grade teacher staggered in their direction, her gaze intent but vacant. "He didn't do anything!" said Molly defensively. "I _saw_ him not do anything!"

"Uuunnggghhhh," moaned Mrs. Frensky, her arms outstretched and groping.

"Dude, I think something's _wrong_ with her," remarked Molly with concern.

The woman's hands landed on their shoulders simultaneously. They didn't know what was happening, or indeed, that anything was happening at all; within an instant their conscious thoughts ceased, and they started to trudge aimlessly and groan in the same manner as Mrs. Frensky.

Marina whirled, her long, sensitive ears picking up the sounds of their groans. "What's wrong?" she asked helpfully. "Is someone hurt?"

Seconds later, Arthur and Buster came into the school through a side entrance, and were startled to see Marina lumbering past them, her hands forward, her cane nowhere to be seen. "Uuuggghhhh," the blind girl mumbled.

"Hey, you're gonna run into something," Buster warned her.

Marina disregarded him, and promptly ran into something—the exit door. Undeterred, she grasped the handle, shoved it open, and walked through the doorway with the same constant gait as before.

"Omigosh," said Arthur, turning about. "She'll fall down the stairs!"

He and Buster made it out just in time to see Marina on the verge of the stairway, her right foot stepping into empty air. Arthur, leaping forward, succeeded in grasping the girl's arm at the moment she began to tumble. By bracing his feet against the first and second of the stone steps, he managed to slow Marina's descent and lessen her impact with the staircase. Sprawled but unharmed, she fumbled and twisted to right herself.

"That was some fancy footwork, Arthur," said Buster. "Arthur…?"

The next person to notice Arthur and Buster was a young man on a bicycle, who halted abruptly when they blocked his route. "Hey, I'm riding my bike here," he scolded them.

"Uuunngghhh," moaned the two boys as they pounced on him.

D.W.'s amusement at the zombie antics turned into irritation as one fellow student after another charged her, touching her in places where she didn't want to be touched. No matter where in the school building she wandered, the situation was similar—every child and grownup she encountered was earnestly striving to make more zombies. _Okay, this is getting weirder and weirder_, she thought. _Are they all making fun of me? Or is this…real?_

Lowering her hand into her pocket, she lifted the glowing orb in front of her face. _Maybe this rock really is from outer space_, she imagined. _I remember watching a movie about a meteor that turned people into zombies. Then why doesn't it affect me? Is it because I'm holding it?_

She heard normal voices in the distance, and looked over her shoulder. Francine, Sue, and Beat were emerging from their home room, with Mrs. Krantz close behind. The sight of the mindlessly marching hordes made them stop cold.

"What the heck's going on?" said Francine.

"If I didn't know better…" said Beat.

"I _do_ know better," said Sue, "and I still say…they're _zombies!_"

The very word seemed to attract the gaze of the mesmerized masses, and they turned as one to stagger towards the three girls. They were over three dozen strong, a fearsome sight to behold.

"I don't get it," said Francine, her anxiety growing. "Halloween was a month ago."

"And they don't observe the _Dia de los Muertos_ here," added Beat, "as far as I know."

As the groaning crowd surrounded them, Sue fixed her eye on D.W., who appeared to be the only unaffected human in the center court. The aardvark girl was warding off would-be attackers by waving a pale green sphere at them and shouting, "Stay back!" Strangely enough, her strategy was working.

_That rock protects her from the zombies_, Sue realized. _If I can get it away from her…_

Francine, expressing both mock terror and genuine terror, backed away from the moaning mob until she collided with the lockers. "What happens if they bite us?" she said half-jestingly.

"That's easy," replied Beat as she cowered at her friend's side. "They bite you again, and then they keep biting you until they've _eaten_ you."

A greedy hand lashed out at Sue, but she leaned backwards, dodging the attack with catlike agility. Seeing an opening between two of the zombies, she curled up, pushed forward with her feet, and rolled as if her back was the surface of a tire. As she stood up she thought, _I'm glad I practiced that maneuver so many times in Tae Kwon Do class._

She took a quick backwards glance before hurrying away. Beat and Francine were no longer distinguishable from the rest; with waving arms and glassy eyes, they pushed their way into the classroom where Mrs. Krantz had taken refuge. There was no doubt left in Sue's mind that she was facing a bona fide zombie plague. _That weird stone is my only hope of saving them…and me_, she assured herself.

"Back, foul zombies!" cried the little girl with the sphere. "The power of D.W. compels you!" James, Vicita, and every other child in her vicinity fled as if driven by whips.

Sue, fearing nothing, rushed at D.W. with leaps and bounds, snatching the round object from her fingers with a swift motion. "Yoink!" she said exultantly.

"Hey, that's mine!" D.W. protested. "Get your own meteor!" She was barely able to finish her sentence before a second-grade boy jabbed her from behind. Her free will vaporizing, she put out her arms and staggered away in search of fresh victims to infect.

* * *

To be continued 


	18. Fewer Zombies!

A patrol car sped through the streets of Elwood City, its lights spinning. Inside sat two policewomen who appeared more than a little worried.

"We've been called to _that_ neighborhood again," Officer Pinsky remarked ominously. "Every time it's something weird—a girl's dress stolen off her back, kids with crazy mental powers, kidnapped aliens, even witches. Why are _we_ always the ones who get sent?"

"Maybe we're just lucky," said her partner, Officer Jones. "On the other hand, maybe that moose lady was right—maybe we _are_ the only two policewomen in the city."

Seeing some careless pedestrians ahead, they slowed the squad car down to a crawl. The people in the street, they soon observed, were walking stiffly with outstretched arms and vacant eyes.

"Zombies," said Pinsky with a moan. "Why am I not surprised?"

"How do you kill zombies again?" said Jones. "It's been a long time."

"What in the heck happened to the crossing guard?" Pinsky wondered.

"There he is," said Jones, pointing toward a man in an orange jacket who was lumbering mindlessly down the sidewalk.

Before their unbelieving eyes, a little second-grade girl staggered onto a porch and laid her hands on an old man enjoying a lemonade in his easy chair. Not wasting a moment, the oldster tossed aside his drink, sprang to his feet, and marched away to become one with the zombie horde.

"I've heard of this happening in Pittsburgh," said Pinsky, "but I never dreamed I'd see it here."

From the midst of the staggering drones darted a cat girl with curly locks, her gaze fixed on the stopped police car. In one hand she grasped a shiny round object, and with the other she had already taken hold of the door handle in an attempt to enter the vehicle. Seeing no harm, Pinsky flipped a lever to unlock the door.

"Thank goodness you're here," said Sue breathlessly. "The whole school's been zombified. This magic rock protects me, but I don't know how to stop them." Finding a loose seat belt strap, she wrapped it around her waist as if expecting to be taken for a ride.

"You must be the kid who called us," said Officer Jones. "I've got news for you—we don't know how to deal with zombies either."

"Why do they stick out their arms?" Pinsky asked herself. "I mean, what purpose does it serve?"

The zombies, seeing a trio of uninfected humans inside the squad car, began to congregate around Sue and the two officers. "Here they come!" cried the cat girl in terror. "Don't let them touch you!" Turning her head, she beheld Zombie Buster's nose pressed against the glass, his jaw drooping moronically.

"Well, _here's_ an interesting development," said Jones as she watched Zombie Tommy and Zombie Timmy clamber onto the hood of the patrol car.

As frenzied hands pounded against the windows and sides, Sue recalled vividly the trick she had seen D.W. perform. Holding the pale green sphere as high as her arm would allow, she exclaimed, "Go away, zombies! Leave us alone!"

The response was instantaneous—every one of the surrounding zombies turned and reversed course, leaving the vehicle alone in the street. Sue sighed with relief.

"We're gonna need backup," said Pinsky, twisting the car around.

It was a short three-mile trip to the police station, and Sue had the opportunity to share with the policewomen everything she knew about zombie lore. "If we're lucky, we can find a voodoo priest to break the curse," she recommended. "They're living zombies, not dead zombies, so once the curse is broken they'll go back to being alive instead of being dead—at least I _think_ that's how it works."

The patrol car pulled into the station lot, and Officer Jones told the girl, "You'll be safe here until this blows over. There's even a mall next door, in case you need to hole yourself up."

"Thank you, officers," said Sue.

Meanwhile, on the street that passed by Lakewood Elementary, Arthur and Buster abruptly regained their senses. Arthur, looking down at his rigid arms, wondered, "What's going on?"

Buster stared in wonder at his palms. "Oh, man," he marveled. "I was a zombie. That was _so_ cool."

"But how?" said Arthur, slowly lowering his arms. "Who turned us into zombies? And how did we _stop_ being zombies?"

"Guys!" yelled Francine, rushing towards them along the dotted yellow line. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, we're good," replied Buster.

"That was the weirdest thing _ever_," said the monkey girl in awe. "I couldn't do anything about it—I _had_ to touch people. It's like I was possessed by a dybbuk…er, I mean…uh, what do Christians get possessed by when they get possessed?"

Arthur checked his Bionic Bunny watch. "Now we're late for second period," he lamented. "What're we gonna tell Mrs. Krantz?"

"Yeah," said Francine darkly. "'Dear Teacher: I'm sorry for turning you into a zombie. Here's an apple.'"

All three hurried back to the school entrance, where they encountered Muffy, her face pale, her arms raised, her moans frightful. "Omigosh, she's still a zombie!" cried Buster.

"No, I don't think so," said Francine.

"Ooooohhh," Muffy mumbled miserably. "I fell in a puddle and got mud all over my dress. Ooooohhh…"

Sue, shifting impatiently in her seat at the police station, was hailed by Officer Pinsky. "The situation at your school is under control," the policewoman reported. "Nobody was hurt, apparently. They're still trying to determine exactly what happened."

_Whatever it was_, thought Sue as she cradled the mysterious orb in her fingers, _it's got something to do with D.W.'s rock. What evil powers are hidden within it?_

* * *

To be continued 


	19. Scapegoat

It took some persuading, but Sue finally agreed to return to Lakewood with the officers. By the time she arrived, morning recess was about to give way to third period. The astonished kids had lost interest in both work and play, and spent their time sharing their experiences as zombies with each other. As Sue slipped into her desk, she overheard Beat communicating to Zeke, "It was incredible—as if I had abandoned my thoughts and cares, and allowed someone else to walk my body for a while. It was the most supremely satisfying moment of my life."

"I don't know what to think of it," said the Pomeranian boy. "Maybe God was trying to teach us that if we go forth and touch the lives of our friends and neighbors, those friends and neighbors will spread the love to _their_ friends and neighbors, and so on."

"I'll be buggered," said Beat sarcastically. "The solution to the world's ills has been sitting under our noses all along."

Mrs. Krantz called her pupils to attention. "I'll call the roll, just to be sure nobody's been eaten," she said, lifting a sheet of paper to her eyes. "Buster Baxter?"

Before the rabbit boy could make his presence known, the public address speaker crackled to life. "This is substitute principal Rodentia Ratburn," announced a pleasing female voice. "I'm happy to confirm that Herbert Haney _will_ resume his duties as your regular principal tomorrow morning."

All the kids cheered except for Buster, who suddenly felt as if his stomach was grinding rocks. _Tomorrow is the last day of my normal life_, he thought.

"Also, regarding the strange disturbance that took place during second period," Rodentia went on, "you'll be glad to know that the perpetrator has come forward and confessed."

"Perpetrator?" said Binky, amazed. "You mean somebody perpetrated us into zombies?"

"Only a twisted, evil mind would be capable of such a deed," said Arthur. "Someone like…"

"D.W. Read," said Rodentia over the intercom.

Every jaw in the room dropped. "Your _sister_ did this?" Muffy blurted out.

Arthur shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past her."

A faint, bashful girl's voice was heard through the speaker: "I don't want to."

"You can do it, D.W.," said Rodentia encouragingly.

The kids could hear their own hearts beat as they awaited D.W.'s statement.

"I'm…I'm sorry," the girl spoke up. "I'm sorry for inventing the game that turned you all into zombies."

The intercom fell silent, as did the entire classroom. George was the first to express vocally what everyone else was thinking: "Huh?"

"But…that's ridiculous," said Beat. "There's no such thing as a game that can _force_ you to play it."

"There's Jumanji," said Binky.

"Jumanji's a _movie_, you silly goose," Beat retorted.

"It's a game, too," said Binky wisely.

_D.W.'s right_, thought Arthur. _She really does get blamed for everything._

For the next five hours D.W. was a pariah, shunned even by her classmates and her best friend, Nadine. In the lunchroom she ate at a table by herself, companionless until her brother decided to have compassion on her. "Don't worry about it," said Arthur, resting his tray of spaghetti and pudding next to hers. "By tomorrow they'll be laughing about the whole thing."

"But I want them to laugh _today_," said D.W. dolefully.

"You didn't really turn us all into zombies," Arthur consoled her. "You don't have the ability to do that. The principal and the superintendent couldn't explain what happened, and they wanted a scapegoat, so they blamed _you_."

"What's a scapegoat?" D.W. asked him.

"Hmm," said Arthur, searching his brain. "A scapegoat is…"

"In Biblical times," said Beat, who was standing behind them with her meal, "the Jews of Jerusalem observed Yom Kippur by symbolically transferring their sins to a goat, and then driving the goat into the wilderness. Metaphorically, a scapegoat is someone who's blamed for the ills of society, often as a distraction from the real causes."

"Yeah," said D.W. with a grin. "Like Arthur."

As Beat occupied a spot across from them, she said, "I think Miss Ratburn was out of line when she made you confess. What does she know about zombie outbreaks? At least Mr. Haney would've admitted his ignorance in such matters."

"You should run for principal, Beat," said D.W. "You'd do a better job."

"No, thank you," said the rabbit-aardvark girl. "I've got my sights set higher than that—the _school board_."

They enjoyed their food in relative silence, at least until Sue strolled past the table. "Hey, Sue Ellen," D.W. called to her. "Can I have my meteor back now?"

The orange-haired girl stopped and sneered. "That's _Sue_ to you. And no, you can't have it back—not after what you did."

"Stop it!" said Beat, suddenly indignant. "You have no right to blame D.W. for…"

"Go take a flying leap," Sue snapped at her before marching away.

"Excuse me," said Beat flatly. Rising to her feet, she followed Sue's path to the cafeteria exit.

Arthur looked down at the girl's half-eaten meal. "She sounded really angry," he remarked. "Since I'm the student body president, I'd better make sure they don't have an argument, or a fight."

He jumped up from the table, leaving D.W. alone once again. When he reached the center court, he found that Sue was rifling through her locker, while Beat was striding single-mindedly toward an exit door. _Crisis averted_, he thought with relief.

He was wrong. The moment Beat was outside, she located the nearest tree with branches she could reach, and started to pull herself higher and higher…

* * *

To be continued 


	20. Out on a Limb

Grasping branch after branch, Beat hoisted herself up the old oak tree until she was more than twenty feet from the ground. One of the limbs made a broad sweep over the school's front yard, so she began to creep along it, holding tight with both arms and legs. She had often dreamed about climbing a tall tree, and on this occasion she did so without fear, knowing that when she reached the end, she would jump. She _had_ to jump. She _was_ the jump.

On the ground, Alan and Prunella were discussing their joint book report when they caught sight of Beat shimmying along the bare limb. "Omigosh," exclaimed Prunella. "What's she doing up there?"

Alan bolted across the lawn until the girl's shadow touched him. "Beat!" he cried, cupping his hands over his mouth. "Get down from there before you fall and kill yourself!"

She paid him no attention, but went on climbing. Alan easily calculated that she was at least thirty feet above him. "Help! Help!" he began to yell at everyone within earshot.

"Somebody call the fire department!" shouted Prunella, running frantically in a circle.

Beat seemed oblivious to the crowd gathering below as she cautiously straightened her knees while stretching out her arms for additional balance. The limb quivered, and she quivered with it. Not once did the thought of the injuries she might sustain enter her mind; the only words she could hear were _flying leap, flying leap, flying leap_…

She struck a graceful pose as if preparing to dive, and a crackling, snapping noise filled the air—the limb was collapsing under her weight. It broke free from the main trunk in a spray of sawdust and plunged downward, Beat flailing her arms as she descended with it.

The kids fled in fear, leaving only one individual between the girl and the ground. Mrs. Krantz steeled herself as the long shaft of wood came at her, striking her in the exact spot where she parted her hair, midway between her antlers.

Beat tumbled to the earth and felt her breath fly from her lungs. As the children watched, the moose woman stood rigid as a pillar with the limb seemingly wedged in her scalp, for the space of five whole seconds. She then proceeded to topple over forwards.

When Prunella and Alan reached her, she was prostrate and nose-down on the grass, her pupils askew, the heavy limb pressing against her back. "Mrs. Krantz?" said Alan earnestly. "Are you okay?"

The teacher opened her mouth slightly and groaned.

"How many fingers do you see?" said Prunella, opening her hand in front of the woman's face.

"Eleventy-one," was her delirious reply.

Hearing the wail of an ambulance, Sue finally stepped outside to check on the situation. What she saw was two paramedics pulling a stretcher from their vehicle, Beat sitting up and clutching her left side, and her adoptive mother stretched out and motionless in the grass. "Mom!" she exclaimed, rushing forward. "What happened?"

"She got beaned by a branch," Alan reported. Consumed with worry over the fallen Mrs. Krantz, Sue remained unaware that Beat had suffered an accident as well.

"You may have a broken rib," said one of the paramedics to the rabbit-aardvark girl with the pain-wracked face. "Here, let me take a look."

"Keep your eyes _off_ my chest, you pervert," said Beat sharply.

The remainder of the school day was tense for Mrs. Krantz's students, who were temporarily thrust into the fifth-grade class of Mrs. Pike. This teacher, they discovered, had earned a reputation for toughness that nearly rivaled that of Nigel Ratburn. She had, in addition, something that Mr. Ratburn lacked—a moustache.

During every break, Sue hurried to the principal's office and asked the same question of Rodentia: "Any word on my mom and Beat?"

By the middle of the afternoon she finally had an answer: "Miss Simon has a cracked rib. Mrs. Krantz suffered a concussion—she's not entirely lucid yet, but she'll recover. If not for those rock-hard antlers of hers, it would've been much more serious."

_I guess we're stuck with Mrs. Pike for the long haul_, thought Sue. _Stupid Beat. What possessed her to fall out of a tree?_ "For tomorrow, I want you all to complete problems 1-10 in chapter 12 of the math book," said the jeans-clad teacher in her mannish voice. "If you're from Mrs. Krantz's class and you haven't read chapter 12, then I'd like to introduce you to a wonderful invention that'll let you study twice as much in half the time. It's called the Power Off button on your TV remote."

* * *

When school ended for the day, Alan was one of the first to leave the premises. Climbing into the family car with his mother and sister, he said to Tegan, "We all turned into zombies, and Beat fell out of a tree and broke her rib. How was _your_ day?" 

"Kinda boring," replied the teenager. "I scored perfectly on all the quizzes without even studying. During lunch my female friends and I held a rally to protest the cruel treatment of Paris Hilton at the hands of California's legal system."

"What," said Alan, "you mean going to jail for a month over a drunken driving charge?"

"Drunken driving?" said Tegan, surprised. "Is _that_ what she did?"

Their first stop, even before returning home, was the Katzenellenbogan Memorial Hospital. "We're here to see a patient named Raymond Mansch," Mrs. Powers informed the receptionist.

After a quick look through her database, the woman said, "He's in room 289."

A nurse led Alan, Tegan, and their mother to the suite where Mansch was being treated. "He's on painkillers at the moment," she told them. "If you have questions for him, this probably isn't the best time."

"So what happened to him?" inquired Mrs. Powers.

"Broken sternum, internal bleeding," answered the nurse. "It's like he was punched by a T-rex."

They found the diminutive cat man on a bed, his gown partially concealing the plaster cast around his torso. His eyes, which Alan had once regarded as pools of deceit, were filmy and inattentive. As Tegan smiled, Alan scowled, and Mrs. Powers stood to one side, Mansch weakly rolled his head to get a better view of the visitors.

"Alan…" he groaned in a raspy voice.

"Hi, Ray," said Tegan. "It's me. I'm here, too."

"Alan," Mansch repeated.

"How'd you recover from the mind wipe?" the boy asked rudely.

"Alan," said Mansch, ignoring his question. "The sphere."

"Sphere?" said Alan impatiently. "What sphere?"

Mansch breathed in as deeply as he could without causing himself pain.

"You must…destroy…the sphere," he gasped out.

* * *

To be continued 


	21. Another Zombie!

_Destroy the sphere_, Alan repeated in his mind. "What sphere is he talking about?" he asked Tegan.

"I have no idea," his sister replied. Turning her earnest attention to Mansch, she inquired, "Who did this to you? Who attacked you?"

The semi-conscious man began to mumble again: "Sen…Sentinels."

Tegan gave her younger brother a puzzled look. "Why would the Sentinels attack him?" he said, rubbing his chin. "How would he even know who they are?"

"J-Jean," said Mansch, his eyelids drooping.

* * *

At an entirely different type of hospital, Arthur, D.W., and George sat in a waiting room, anxious to learn of the fate of the aforementioned Jean. Arthur, noticing a stack of dog-related magazines on a table, curiously picked one up. Its cover featured a tough-looking brown and white pooch and the headline, _Care and Breeding of your English Bulldog_. 

"Ya know, that dog looks a lot like Binky," remarked D.W.

"Yeah, it does," said George with a chuckle. "But don't tell him I said that, or he'll clobber me."

An old lady two seats over smiled at the kids. "My son owns a bulldog," she told them. "His name's Fredo. He's such a gentle creature…loves to play with the grandchildren."

"I think bulldogs look mean," said D.W. with a slight shiver.

"_Everybody_ thinks that," said the old woman. "They're misunderstood creatures."

A veterinarian in a white smock emerged from one of the hallways, carrying a plastic cage with him. "Here's your wolverine, Mrs. Kovacs," he said, handing the pet container to the lady. "She doesn't have a respiratory infection, just a cold. A little TLC, and she'll be as good as new."

"Thank you, doctor," said the oldster. Rising up slowly, she said to the creature in the cage, "Let's go home, Wisteria."

As she departed, the veterinarian turned his gaze to George. "You're the boy who brought in the injured greyhound last night," he stated. "I'm afraid I have bad news."

"Bad news?" said Arthur with alarm.

"Jean was in a great deal of pain," the doctor went on. "We tried many times to contact the owner, but there was no answer. We finally had to put her to sleep."

Arthur and George gaped in shock. D.W., for her part, asked, "Then why don't you just wake her up?"

"You don't understand," the veterinarian said to her. "We had to put her down."

"Then pick her up again," said D.W. innocently.

"We _euthanized_ her," said the vet.

"You turned her back into a puppy?" said the aardvark girl. "Cool!"

"She's _dead_."

D.W.'s vapid smile twisted into a scowl. "Murderer!" she exclaimed.

Arthur and George remained speechless for a time as the vet went about his business. Finally Arthur managed to say, "Omigosh…Jean dead, the Professor gone…what'll happen to the X-Pets now?"

George shrugged. "I guess they'll have to go back to their normal lives. As dogs, I mean."

_RIP Jean Greyhound 2003-2007_

* * *

"Miss Turner?" uttered a young girl's voice. 

Paige turned aside from her game of Tetris to find out who had summoned her. All she could see above the counter were the tips of a pair of catlike ears.

"Miss Turner," said Sue eagerly, "I'd like to see which books you have about zombies."

The librarian stood and moved over to her database terminal. "Let's see," she muttered, mainly to herself. "We've got _My Parents are Zombies_, _My Teacher is a Zombie_, _Field Trip of the Living Dead_, _Captain Underpants vs. the Dreadful Zombie Bunnies of Neptune 9_, _The Scare-Your-Pants-Off Big Book of Zombies…_"

"No, Miss Turner," said the cat girl. "I want _nonfiction_ books about zombies."

Paige looked at her quizzically. "You…_do_ know that zombies are imaginary, right?"

"I _used_ to know that," was Sue's reply.

Later in the day, she was engrossed in Wade Davis' _The Serpent and the Rainbow_ when her adoptive father called her to dinner. "We're having Stove Top stuffing tonight," said the moose man.

"Not hungry, Dad," the girl replied. _Not hungry for your cooking, that is_, she thought.

Mr. Krantz wandered to the rocking chair where she sat. "Whatcha reading?" he inquired.

"It's a book about Haitian zombies," Sue told him. "It's really cool. The author says that the voodooists in Haiti have one drug that can make you look like you're dead, and another drug that makes you obedient…"

"Interesting," said Mr. Krantz. "Maybe Mrs. McGrady's spiking the cafeteria food with the stuff, eh?"

"I _did_ think of that possibility," said Sue. _But what's the sphere got to do with it?_ she wondered. _I can't find anything in here about a sphere that turns people into zombies, or a sphere that protects people from zombies, or any kind of sphere at all._

"If you don't like stuffing, there's ice cream," said the moose man. "But at least _try_ the stuffing first. It's my special recipe."

"I'm reading, Dad," said Sue peevishly. "So go take a flying…"

A thunderbolt of realization exploded in her mind. _Holy crud_, she thought. _That's the same thing I said to Beat just before she…_

"Take a flying _what?_" said her adoptive father.

_Of course_, the cat girl cogitated. _The truth's been right there, in front of my nose, all along!_

By thrusting with her legs, she caused the rocking chair to swivel about and face Mr. Krantz. Holding aloft the glowing orb, which she had retrieved from her pocket while spinning, she ordered, "Dad, bend over and touch your toes."

The man quickly obeyed, wheezing slightly as his protruding belly weighted him down.

"Now say, 'I'm a big fat doofus,'" she instructed him.

"I'm a big fat doofus," said Mr. Krantz with an oblivious expression.

"Now say it a million times."

"I'm a big fat doofus. I'm a big fat doofus. I'm a big fat doofus…"

Sue gazed lovingly at the sphere she held. _There's no limit to what I can achieve now_, she thought.

"I'm a big fat doofus," said Krantz, his face starting to register consternation. "I'm a big fat doofus. I'm a big fat…"

"Okay, that's enough," said Sue flatly.

The man fell silent, and his eyes widened with fear and uncertainty. "How…how are you…"

"Get on your knees and worship me," Sue commanded.

* * *

To be continued 


	22. The Real Mr Gelt

Again and again, Arthur plunged his small shovel into the earth, making the rectangular hole deeper. Mrs. Read walked up to him, reviewed what she was seeing, and said, "Arthur, digging a hole without permission is the sort of thing I expected from you in _third_ grade."

The aardvark boy wiped his brow with his sweater sleeve. "I'm digging a grave for Jean Greyhound," he told his mother.

"Jean _who?_" said his mother, astounded. "You can't bury just _anyone_ in our yard, you know."

"She's a dog," said Arthur. "She _was_ a dog."

"She wasn't _our_ dog," said Mrs. Read. "Someday, when Pal dies, you can bury him here, but you're not going to turn the yard into a pet cemetery for the whole neighborhood."

She strolled away, the finality of her words hanging in the air. Arthur, after filling up the hole the best he could, left the shovel sticking out and went to the telephone.

"Hello?" said Alan Powers.

"Hi, Alan, it's me," said Arthur. "I need a big favor. Jean Greyhound's dead, and I'm looking for a place to bury her, 'cause the vet can't keep her in his freezer forever."

"What?" said Alan, taken aback. "Jean Greyhound's _dead?_"

"Yeah," said Arthur. "You got any extra space in your yard?"

Silence filled the line as Alan pondered what he had been told. "Mansch mentioned somebody named Jean," he recalled. "He said he was attacked by Sentinels…and something about a sphere…but I don't know if I can trust anything he said, because he was drugged at the time, plus he's a crook to begin with."

"So, how about it?" said Arthur, returning to his subject. "It'd be a good way to honor the memory of the Professor…I mean, in case you never see him again."

* * *

While Alan and Arthur discussed Jean Greyhound's funeral arrangements, Sue relaxed in a rocking chair with her feet jutting out so that Mr. Krantz could rub massage oil onto them. _I could live in luxury, with the world in my thrall_, she mused. _But where would be the satisfaction in that? No, I'd rather be loved than obeyed._

A possible course of action occurred to her, and she lifted the mysterious sphere to waist level. "Binky," she ordered, "come to my house immediately." _I'll save wear and tear on my feet as well_, she thought.

Half a mile away, Binky was poring over an algebra problem when he heard a strange summons. Powerless to resist, he arose stiffly and started to march away from his desk.

Mrs. Barnes, noticing that the boy had put on his coat, asked him, "Where are you going?"

"To Sue's house," he replied emotionlessly.

"Have you finished your homework?" his mother inquired.

"No," was his simple response. "See ya, Mom."

He trudged in a straight line, not bothering to look each way before crossing the street. As a result, a little blue sedan was forced to swerve sharply to avoid him.

"How rude!" said Muffy, who occupied one of the seats in the back of the sedan. "Why doesn't that kid watch where he's going?"

"His head's so big, maybe he couldn't see past it," said her seatmate, Fern.

Mrs. Walters directed the car into a smooth right turn. "I'm curious," said Muffy to her friend. "Why did you insist on having your mom drive us to Mavis' house?"

"It's just a feeling I have," said Fern. _A feeling of not wanting to go anywhere near Mr. Crosswire's car_, she thought.

* * *

Binky strode into the Krantz home without knocking. Seeing Sue stretched out on a reclining chair, he said with a smile, "Hey, beautiful."

"Hi, handsome," said the cat girl sweetly.

He was halfway through the kitchen when he began to look about, confused. "I…I forgot why I came here," he muttered.

"Come closer," said Sue, and the bulldog boy could think of nothing except to obey.

Mr. Krantz straightened up and moved aside, allowing the two kids to face each other. "Binky," Sue began, "you came here so you could tell me all about your friend Clive."

"Clive," said Binky with a vacant stare.

"Somehow Clive was responsible for placing me in this reality, where the Yordilians failed in their conquest of Earth," she continued. "What I want to know, and what you're going to tell me, is…how did he do it?"

* * *

Mrs. Walters switched off the headlights, and the house ahead of them grew dim. "Here we are, girls," she said, looking over her shoulder.

"Thanks, Mom," said Fern. She and Muffy unfastened their seat belts, and Muffy stepped out of the vehicle with a string-bound parcel under her arm. For this visit she was wearing, instead of her usual optical fiber dress, a pale blue one made of satin.

Mr. Cutler opened the door soon after she rang the bell. "Come in, Muffy, Fern," said the man with the hamster-like ears. "Mavis will be happy to see you."

The girl, clad in a red jumpsuit that matched her hair, rounded a corner to greet them. "Hi, Muffy," she said immediately, but recognizing Fern required effort on her part. After a few moments of narrow-eyed staring, she finally said, "All I can see is a nose."

"Pleased to meet you," said Fern, sticking out her hand. "I'm Barbra Streisand."

"Oh, Fern, it's _you_," said Mavis, giggling.

"If you don't mind my asking," said the poodle girl, "how much can you still see?"

"Hardly a thing," Mavis replied. "It's like everything's a blur and the whole world's just a faint spot in the middle of the blur."

"Enough negative talk, Mavis," said Muffy, who was deftly untying the string around the box. "I've got a present for you—a _valuable_ present—one you can exchange for a pair of new eyes."

"My gosh, Muffy," said Fern in astonishment. "You're giving her the _space dress?_"

"Affirmative," said the monkey girl, stretching out the dress with her fingers so everyone present could see the blank white surface.

"I…I didn't…" Fern sputtered.

"Go ahead, say it," gloated Muffy. "You didn't think I was so generous."

Mavis groped with her hands, touching and caressing the alien fabric. "Thank you so much, Muffy," she said. "How much do you suppose it's worth?"

_To some people, more than a human life_. "At least half a million, I'd guess," said Muffy.

"Let's go, Mavis," said Fern, grabbing the dress with one hand and the hamster girl's wrist with the other. "I'll help you change. I've just _got_ to see how you look in it."

It wasn't long before the door to the bathroom closed, and muffled movements were heard from within. "It's quite an impressive dress," remarked Mr. Cutler as he showed Muffy to a seat on the couch. "Can I get you some oatmeal cookies?"

"No, thank you," said the girl. "I'm watching my figure."

"I've also got peanut butter chocolate chip," the man told her.

"Oh, what the heck," said Muffy. "You're only young once."

As Mavis pulled the alien dress over her torso, the image of her smiling, curly head popped into view. "How do I look?" she asked, and the copy of her face spoke along with her.

"It's you," gushed Fern. "It's really you."

Outside the bathroom, Mr. Cutler was serving milk and cookies to Muffy on a plate. "For such a unique item, I don't imagine finding a buyer will be a problem," the man contemplated.

"Don't worry yourself about that," said Muffy confidently. "I've already got someone lined up. He'll give _anything_ for that dress."

"Who is he?" asked Mr. Cutler.

"His name's Gelt," replied Muffy.

Her host's face suddenly darkened. "Gelt?" he repeated thoughtfully. "_Meriwether_ Gelt?"

Muffy nodded.

"Meriwether Gelt of Chick-a-Doodle fame?"

"The very one."

Mavis burst through the door like a prom queen, her skirt waving. "What do you think, Dad?" she said proudly.

"It's lovely, dear," was Mr. Cutler's stoic response. "Now take it off, please."

"Wha—" said Muffy, Fern, and Mavis in unison.

"I can't accept the dress," the man went on. "I'm sorry."

"But…but why not?" said Muffy earnestly.

Mr. Cutler gave her a patronizing look. "How a nice young thing like you got mixed up with the likes of Meriwether Gelt, I don't know. Anyone who reads the news regularly, like I do, knows him for what he really is—_a mob financier_."

* * *

"Interesting," said Sue, her fingers tented. "Very interesting. Where is Clive now?"

Binky shrugged. "I dunno. He disappeared. Alan told me that Professor Frink was after him."

"Hmm," said Sue sinisterly. "I've been hoping for a chance to get to know the professor better, and here it is."

* * *

To be continued 


	23. No! No!

"At the risk of sounding ignorant," said Muffy, "what's a financier?"

Mr. Cutler tensed up to respond, but Fern spared him the trouble. "What he's saying is, Mr. Gelt provides the money so that the mob can operate."

The hamster man nodded.

Muffy felt as if her heart had been ripped out and she was wrestling to get it back.

"But…but that's impossible! My dad would never borrow money from gangsters! _Never!_"

"It may be that your father's unaware of the extent of Gelt's shady dealings," suggested Mr. Cutler.

"I don't believe you," said Muffy indignantly. "He may be a mean old man without a heart, but he's not an organized criminal, because I know for a fact that my daddy would never, _ever_ do business with organized criminals."

After gazing thoughtfully into the air for a few seconds, Fern started to lead Mavis into the bathroom. "I'll help you change out of the dress," she said disappointedly. "I'm awfully sorry about this."

"That's nice of you," said Mavis, "but I can handle it."

"Humor me," said Fern, and the door closed after the two girls.

Meanwhile, Mr. Cutler gestured for Muffy to accompany him into the computer room. "Maybe a Google search will convince you," he said to the offended monkey girl. "Have a seat, and type in the words 'Meriwether Gelt' and 'Mafia'."

Anxious to prove the man wrong, she leaned back in the revolving chair, pulled the keyboard closer, and entered the search terms Mr. Cutler had given her. The moment she pressed Enter, a series of alarming headlines appeared:

_Gelt accused of racketeering_

_Millionaire denies writing check to Mafia don_

_Probe widens in Gelt bribe scandal_

_Attorney's death suicide or mob hit?_

Fern stepped into the room, her fingers busily tying the string around Muffy's dress box. "Find anything interesting?" she asked her friend.

"I'll say," replied Muffy, her face radiating with worry. "Newspapers don't lie—Mr. Gelt is a big-time crook. I've got to warn my daddy about him, right away."

"Assuming he doesn't already know," said Fern flatly.

"Don't even joke about that, Fern," said Muffy, hopping down from the office chair. "My dad's innocent in all of this, you'll see. Now let's go, chop-chop!"

Eager to leave herself, Fern followed Muffy with such haste that they struck and knocked over Mavis on the way out. "Omigosh, I'm so sorry!" exclaimed Fern, as Muffy extended a hand to help the girl to her feet.

"I wish you could stay longer," said the unruffled Mavis. "My mom bought me a CD set of the complete Shakespeare sonnets."

Fern abruptly froze in her tracks. "Come _on!_" said Muffy, dragging her along by the wrist.

Mrs. Walters, surprised to see the girls return so soon, closed up the computer training manual she was reading. "Where to now?" she asked them.

"My place," answered Muffy as she and Fern climbed into the back seat with their package. "And step on it."

"Yes, Miss Muffy," said the poodle woman facetiously.

Within a matter of minutes, Mrs. Walters was waiting on the street outside the Crosswire condo as her daughter and Muffy rushed inside. Finding her parents passionately holding hands in front of the television, Muffy staunchly placed herself between them and the set, holding the box under one arm. "Daddy, I've got something important to tell you," she announced.

"It _must_ be important," remarked Mr. Crosswire. "You're normally too polite to stand in front of the TV."

Fern, her gaze suspicious, looked back and forth between Mr. and Mrs. Crosswire as Muffy began to speak. "You mustn't take out a loan from Mr. Gelt," the girl pleaded. "He's in cahoots with the Mafia!"

"What?" her father blurted out.

"The Mafia?" said her mother with astonishment that Fern found questionable.

"And furthermore," Muffy went on, "I think _he_ sent that man to sideswipe me and Bailey."

The Crosswire parents turned to each other. "Did _you_ know about that?" the wife asked the husband.

"I didn't have a clue," was the husband's reply.

_They're phonier than an American Idol audition_, thought Fern.

"Mr. Cutler knows all about him," Muffy related. "He's so afraid of getting mixed up with Gelt, he wouldn't even accept the dress."

"What do you mean, _accept the dress?_" said Mr. Crosswire, now appearing more startled than when Muffy had informed him of Gelt's Mafia connections.

"You didn't try to _give_ them the dress, did you?" asked his equally astounded wife.

"That's _exactly_ what I did, Mommy," said Muffy with pride. "It's worth ten times the amount of money they need for Mavis' operation."

"Out of the question!" her father snapped. "I forbid it!" What Fern saw in his face, she could only describe as terror.

"What?" said Muffy, now shocked. "But…Mavis needs the operation! She'll go blind!"

"Yes, honey, I know," said Mrs. Crosswire, nervous to the point of quivering. "But we have other plans for the dress. You can help your friend later."

"_What_ other plans?" exclaimed Muffy, her grip on the box tightening.

Her parents hesitated to answer, and Fern saw an opportunity to interrupt. "_Now_ it all makes sense," said the poodle girl boldly. "I was wrong about you, Mr. Crosswire. I thought you were totally about money, but now I see you're just a cringing coward!"

Muffy gaped. Her mother gaped. Her father's eyes became livid.

"_He_ stole your dress, Muffy," said Fern, pointing at the man. "I saw his car coming and going at the scene. But he didn't do it for the money—he did it out of _fear_. He knew about Gelt's Mafia ties from the start, and he would've turned the dress over to him if I hadn't found him out."

Horrified to the point of tears, Muffy shook her head back and forth. "No…my daddy wouldn't…"

"Enough is enough!" bellowed Mr. Crosswire, leaping to his feet. With a brusque motion he tore the parcel out of Muffy's arms, stating, "The dress goes to Mr. Gelt, and you have no say in the matter!"

"Daddy, _no!_" cried Muffy, stretching out her arms after the box.

_I've seen all I need to see_, thought Fern.

Seizing her heartbroken friend by the fingers, she said, "Let's get out of here! _Run!_"

"No! No!" wept Muffy as Fern attempted to pull her out towards the door. "My dress!"

"Forget your dress!" shouted the poodle girl. "Let's go! Now!"

All Muffy could see through her tears was her father's merciless, stone-like face. Feeling that anything in the world was preferable to that view, she gave in to Fern's pressure and bolted out of the condo, wishing never to return.

* * *

To be continued 


	24. Fern Saves the Day

"My dress, Fern! My dress!" bawled Muffy. Not wasting a second, Fern shoved the distraught girl into the back of her mother's car, and bounded in after.

"Mom, take us back to Mavis' house!" the poodle girl barked. "And make it snappy!"

"What am I, a yo-yo?" said Mrs. Walters, switching on the motor.

So hasty was their flight from the Crosswire condo that the girls didn't bother to buckle their belts. Muffy wept profusely, wiping her eyes with her fists. "My dress, my dress…he's gonna give my dress to that horrible Mr. Gelt!"

"Buck up, Muffy," said Fern calmly. "There's nothing in the box but one of Mavis' bath towels."

Muffy gaped at her with astonished, tear-filled eyes.

"I made the switch as soon as Mavis took it off," Fern told her. "She was none the wiser. The dress is safely hidden away in the Cutlers' clothes hamper."

"You…you mean…" stammered Muffy, her nose hidden behind a handkerchief.

"When I learned about Gelt and the Mafia, I knew I had to act," said Fern.

"You…saved my dress," said Muffy with relief. "You're a hero. You're _my_ hero."

"It was the least I could…" Before Fern could finish, a pair of grateful arms wrapped around her. Muffy's eyes gushed tears again, not of bitterness, but of joy.

"We're not…out of the woods…yet," said Fern, struggling to breathe against Muffy's tight embrace. "When your dad…finds out…anger…warpath…vengeance…fire mingled with blood…"

"I love you, Fern," said Muffy, smiling from ear to ear. "I love you as much as a girl can love another girl."

"You're…crushing…me," Fern choked out.

Muffy's braids trailed behind her as she rushed eagerly into Mavis' house. "My dress!" she exclaimed happily. "Mydressmydressmydressmydress!"

"Back so soon?" said Mavis, surprised at the girls' rapid entrance. "Did you decide you wanted to listen to my Shakespeare CD's after all?"

"I'd love to," said Fern, "but something tells me we don't have the time."

"Ewww!" she heard Muffy groan from the bathroom. "It's damp! It's stinky! _Feeeeern!_"

"Relax," said the poodle girl nonchalantly. "It cleans itself, remember?"

The alien dress was stained in a few spots, but still in one piece, much to the relief of Muffy and Fern. "I thought I'd lost you forever," said Muffy, draping the article of clothing from her fingers.

"You still might," said Fern ominously. "We've got to hide it, and hide it good, before your dad catches up with us."

"What's the matter?" Mavis asked them.

"It's Mr. Crosswire," replied Fern. "He _wants_ to give the dress to Gelt."

"Omigosh," said the hamster girl. "Why?"

"Because he's afraid," Muffy chimed in.

"Gelt threatened him," Fern added. "He said he'd have the dress, or he'd have revenge."

"I wish I could help you," said Mavis, "but I'm sure my dad doesn't want the dress in our house, not when the Mafia's looking for it."

Muffy and Fern gazed at each other as if trying to exchange thoughts. "There must be _somebody_ who can help us," mused Muffy, "somebody who would never, ever tell my dad where the dress is hidden."

"I don't know if we can count on my mom," said Fern, glancing out the window at the Walters family car and the impatient mother within.

A light suddenly glowed in Muffy's head. "I know _just_ the person," she declared.

After bidding farewell to Mavis, the two girls hurried back to the waiting car, Muffy's space dress in tow. "Mom," said Fern as she fastened her belt, "you've got to drive us to Crown City. It's an emergency."

"Crown City?" said the peevish poodle woman. "That's more than a hundred miles from here."

As Muffy quickly dialed a number on her phone, Fern tried to bargain with her mother: "Could you drive us _halfway_ to Crown City?"

"No can do," was Mrs. Walters' answer. "By the time we get that far, you'll be up past your bedtime."

"Hi, Odette," said Muffy into her communication device. "Yeah, it's me. Can I talk to your dad?"

"What kind of emergency are you talking about?" Mrs. Walters asked her daughter. "Not a fashion-related emergency, I hope."

"Mr. Cooper?" said Muffy in a chipper tone. "It's me, Muffy Crosswire. I'm in a bit of a bind, and could sure use some legal advice. Can I stop by your place tonight?"

"Mom, this is a matter of life and death," said Fern desperately.

"It's fashion-related, isn't it?" said her mother.

"But, Mr. Cooper, this is very important," Muffy continued. "And you know what else? It's a chance for you to humiliate my father."

"Mom, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?" Fern pleaded.

"Don't bother," said Muffy, placing a hand over her cell phone. "Mr. Cooper's coming _here._"

* * *

To be continued 


	25. Killer Cane

The dark blue sky felt like a weight on Muffy's shoulders as she readied herself to leave Fern's side. "Are you sure you're up to this?" the poodle girl asked her.

"I don't really have a choice," said Muffy. "He's my dad, and I have to live with him." Glancing down at the space dress that Fern had rolled up into a neat ball, she added, "Keep it secret. Keep it safe. Don't show it to anybody until Mr. Cooper shows up."

"All right," said Fern, gripping the wad of alien fabric in her lap. "But how will he know where to find me?"

Muffy pondered her question for a moment. "Tell me where you'll be two hours from now," she instructed Fern. "Whisper it in my ear."

"Two hours from now she'll be in _bed_," said Mrs. Walters from the driver's seat.

As she walked reluctantly in the direction of the Crosswire condo, Muffy relayed to Mr. Cooper via cell phone the location Fern had whispered to her. "She almost never goes there," she told the man. "It's the last place my dad will think to look for the dress."

"Then that's where I'll be," was Mr. Cooper's reply. "You can count on me, Muffy. I won't let it fall into the hands of those mobsters."

Relief flooded her heart as she folded up her phone and stepped into the apartment. The scene was almost unchanged from how she had left it—her parents were idling in front of the television, and the box, as yet unopened, lay on a table. _He's making this too easy_, she thought.

"Muffin?" said Mr. Crosswire in an emotionless tone, as if nothing bitter had transpired during the last hour.

"Daddy," said Muffy, faking sincerity as best she could, "please, _please_ don't give my dress to Mr. Gelt. I'll do anything you say."

Her father stood up and began to speak apologetically. "Please try to understand, honey. I didn't find out about Gelt's Mafia connections until after the initial interview. I didn't know until he called me and threatened to send people to hurt us unless I gave him the dress."

Muffy put her hands on her hips. "Was Fern telling the truth?" she demanded. "Was it _you_ at the schoolyard?"

Mr. Crosswire stared sheepishly at his sandals. "Yes, it was me," he admitted. "I had to get the dress away from you without breaking your heart or frightening you."

"You did a great job, Dad," said Muffy facetiously. "I wasn't frightened at all when you grabbed me and started _stripping me naked_."

"Listen, Muffin," said her father with sudden haste. "We can talk about this another time, but right now Mr. Gelt's coming to pick up the dress, and he'll be here any minute."

The news pierced the speech center of Muffy's brain like a dagger. "Ge-Ge-Ge-Gelt's co-co-co-co-coming n-n-n-n-_now?_"

"That's right," Mr. Crosswire confirmed. "He's been staying at a hotel in Elwood City for the past few days."

"No, Daddy!" cried Muffy in terror. "You can't! You mustn't!"

"My mind's made up," said her father sternly. "I don't want to hear another word about it until Mr. Gelt has come and gone."

_There's only once chance_, thought Muffy, and she sprang with all her might toward the table where the package lay. Mr. Crosswire, having longer arms and more speed, snatched the box away before she could so much as touch it.

* * *

Her book bag dangling over her shoulder, Muffy's dress stuffed into her book bag, Fern made her way into the Westboro apartment building with the intention of visiting Francine. A repeated pounding noise from the basement level distracted her from that purpose, and she descended the stairs to find its source.

Next to the central heating unit, she discovered, a leather-bound punching bag had been installed on a flexible coil that ran from floor to ceiling. Mr. Frensky, clad in nothing more than boxer shorts, sneakers, and a sleeveless T-shirt, was forcefully hitting the bag again and again with his bare fists. Drops of sweat flew from his forehead as he grunted and swung his arms.

"Uh…hi," said Fern bashfully. "What are you doing?"

The man lowered his fists, and the punching bag quivered to a stop. "I'm…getting ready to…defend my honor," he said through heavy breaths.

"It looks more like you're getting ready to defend your _title_," Fern remarked.

Mr. Frensky chuckled patronizingly. "You'll understand when you're older. No, I take that back. You're a girl."

While the poodle girl tried to formulate a response, two more voices joined the group—those of Francine and her mother. "Give it up, Fern," said Francine, stepping onto the stone floor of the basement with shoeless feet. "He's hopeless. He actually thinks he can _beat_ Pokey."

"Maybe I can, maybe I can't," said Mr. Frensky, hurling a few more punches at the bag. "But if I go down, I'll take a piece of him with me."

"I keep telling him that violence never solved anything," his wife related to Fern. "But when Oliver makes up his mind about something, it stays made up. He's always been that way."

"I couldn't agree more, Mrs. Frensky," said Fern wisely. "Violence never _did_ solve anything."

"You don't watch many National Hockey League games, do you, Fern?" said Francine. "And why are you here, anyway? 'Cause I know you didn't come to watch my dad train."

Fern grinned at her. "I just need a place to hang for the next hour or two. No more questions, okay?"

* * *

After moments of anxious sitting and waiting, Muffy heard the knock at the door that she so dreaded. _Please let it be George_, she thought. _Or Francine, or Buster, or the Gestapo…anyone but Mr. Gelt._

"Come in, Mr. Gelt," said her father with a forced smile.

The sight of the old rabbit man, his beard, his hat, his cane, and his white spats offended Muffy's eyes, but she dared not speak. "I have no time for idle chatter," he said in a menacing tone. "Give me the dress, and I shall leave you and your family in peace."

"Nothing would please me more," said Mr. Crosswire as he carefully unloosed the string around the package. Under Gelt's lustful gaze, he yanked the lid from the box to expose its contents to view.

_Omigosh, here it comes_, thought Muffy. _I've got to be brave. I've got to be brave…_

"No!" exclaimed her father, his eyes resting on a humble bath towel that was still slightly moist from use. "NO!" Whirling, he snapped, "MUFFY! WHERE'S THE DRESS?"

The girl, in spite of the fear clawing at her heart, put on a confident front. "What's it worth to you? And what's it worth to _you_, Mr. Meriwether Moneybags Gelt?"

"Impudent girl!" snarled the now-furious old man. "Do you know who you're trifling with?"

"The dress, Muffy!" said Mr. Crosswire frantically. "Where is it? _Where?_"

"It'll cost you," she said, her hands concealed behind her back. "Half a million dollars. Yes, that should be more than enough to keep Mavis from going blind."

"_I'll_ show you the life of the blind!" roared Gelt. His cane swung upward, and to Muffy's view it appeared to suddenly be as long as the entire room. A blast of pain rocked her skull as the tip of the wooden rod struck her across the eyes.

"Stop it!" begged her father. "Stop hurting my little girl!" His wife, with a cry of concern, knelt down and tended to the spot where Gelt's cane had broken her daughter's skin. Muffy, for her part, only whimpered.

"I've been patient with you long enough, Crosswire," said the old man with aplomb.

Leaning over against his cane, Gelt pressed his dry lips to Mr. Crosswire's cheek. The kiss was more like a peck, but it left the man trembling as he had never trembled before.

Muffy, her head spinning, was able to stand in time to watch the unwelcome visitor march through the door and away from her family. "Well, _that_ wasn't so bad," she muttered quietly. "Still, it would've been better without the hitting."

Mrs. Crosswire approached her husband, whose face had turned ghastly pale. "Ed?" she called to him.

"M-Millicent," he stammered. "You saw what he did. You _saw_ what he _did_."

"Yes, dear," his wife replied.

"What?" said Muffy, rubbing her sore, bleeding temple. "What did he do?"

"That," said Mr. Crosswire, pointing a shaky finger at the departing Gelt, "was the kiss of death."

* * *

To be continued 


	26. Muffy, Go To Your Room!

"What's the kiss of death?" Muffy asked her anxious father. "It doesn't have anything to do with _death_, does it?"

"You don't know about the kiss of death?" Mr. Crosswire almost shouted. "Haven't you ever watched _The Godfather Part II?_ Oh…I guess you haven't."

"Is that a movie?" said Muffy curiously. "Tell me about it."

"All right," said her father with a dramatic sweep of his arm. "The film opens in the Sicilian town of Corleone, where the local Mafia kingpin, Don Ciccio, has just…"

"Ed, honey, we don't have time for that now," his wife interrupted.

"You're absolutely right, Millicent," said Mr. Crosswire. Directing a fierce glare at Muffy, he barked, "Go to your room!"

Mrs. Crosswire gaped incredulously. "I thought we agreed, Ed—only _I_ can send Muffy to her room."

"I'm sorry, dear," said her pacified husband. "I overstepped my authority."

"Apology accepted," said Millicent. To Muffy she added, "Go to your room, and don't come out until you're ready to tell us where the dress is."

"I'll _never_ tell," said Muffy defiantly.

"Maybe you'll change your mind when you hear the screams and the gunshots," her mother retorted. "But by then it'll be too late. We'll all be dead. _You'll_ be dead."

"And only Tyson will be left to avenge our deaths," Mr. Crosswire added, "just like young Vito Andolini, who was nine years old when…"

"Give it a rest, Ed," said his wife impatiently.

With a sigh of resignation, Muffy marched dutifully into her bedroom, and Mrs. Crosswire closed the door to seal her in. Turning to her husband, her expression filled with worry, she said, "What if she _doesn't_ ever tell? What'll happen to us then?"

Mr. Crosswire paused to think for a second. "Well," he suggested, "we _could_ let her out of her room long enough to watch _The Godfather Part II_, just so she'll appreciate the seriousness of…"

"Enough already!"

Muffy lay motionlessly on her bed, still wearing her dress and shoes, thinking about what she had done. _Whenever my mom sends me to my room, she asks me to think about what I did_, was her train of thought. _But this time she didn't. Why not? Is it because she knows I did the right thing?_

_Did I do the right thing? What if we all get killed because of me? How will I live with myself if that happens?_

_No! I won't let Mavis go blind! I won't let that awful Mr. Gelt get away with my dress!_

_I could call up Mr. Cooper right now…ask him to forget about it…_

_I think I hate my dad. I can't believe what he did to me in the schoolyard. The nerve of him! I know it was you, Daddy. You broke my heart. You broke my heart…_

* * *

Francine, who had already changed into her pajamas, cocked her head as she regarded the statue-like poodle girl on the couch. "What are you going to do," she asked, "sit there and say nothing all night?"

Fern didn't reply, but only stared blankly at nothing.

"So the answer's yes," said Francine. "Well, g'nite, Fern. See you in the morning, if you haven't died from motionlessness sickness."

She soon disappeared from Fern's view. _Mr. Cooper will be here any minute_, thought the silent girl, _assuming he went at least fifteen miles over the speed limit, and didn't get pulled over._

Mrs. Frensky peeked through the door of the parents' bedroom. "Shouldn't you be getting home?" she asked the girl.

_Any minute now. Does he know where the Frenskys live? Of course he does, a smart man like him._

The grandfather clock chimed eleven. _C'mon, Mr. Cooper. Any minute now…any minute now…_

A knock came at the door. "Eeeeek!" cried Fern in sudden terror. "Er, I mean…come in, please."

Mel Cooper walked in, the end of his beak preceding him by six inches. "Why, hello, Fern," said the duck man, who wore a pin-striped suit as if he had just left his office. "How have you been?"

"Just peachy," replied the floppy-eared girl.

"I trust you have…_the item_," said Cooper in a hushed tone.

* * *

Having picked up the space dress and given Fern a lift to her house, Mr. Cooper drove his Buick onto the highway and cranked up a public radio station. Fifteen minutes into his journey and the broadcast of _Pipedreams_, he received a call on his mobile phone. "Cooper here," he responded.

"Mr. Cooper, it's Muffy," uttered a timid voice. "I…I'm not sure if we should do this. Do you think you could…come back?"

The man grinned sympathetically. "If you're afraid of getting whacked, it's not going to happen," he reassured her. "Gelt has made open threats against you. If you're found dead, and the dress is found in his possession, the evidence against him will be incontrovertible."

"What's an incontrovertible?" Muffy inquired. "Is that some type of foreign car?"

Cooper chuckled. "No, Muffy. As I was going to say, Gelt is a very rich man, and a very influential man, and if he wants something, there are many ways he can go about getting it. Physical violence is the last thing on his mind—_any_ two-bit thug can resort to that. He may rant and rave and threaten, but at the end of the day, he'd much rather cut a deal with you than kill you."

There was silence as Muffy, still lounging on her bed, considered the man's statement. "So…what you're saying is that Mr. Gelt's just trying to _scare_ us?"

"Exactly," replied Cooper.

"Well, it's working," said Muffy. "My dad's _terrified_ of him."

"I can explain that," said the duck man. "As I was doing research for Mr. Simon's lawsuit against your father, I stumbled upon an intriguing incident from his past. It turns out, Muffy, that your father's been acquainted with Gelt for a long time—even since before you were born."

"Huh?" said Muffy, surprised. "But I thought…"

"That's probably what he _wanted_ you to think," Cooper went on. "Twelve years ago a friend of your father took out a business loan from Gelt, and less than six months after that he was found dead, with multiple gunshot wounds. Your father apparently jumped to the conclusion that Gelt had ordered the killing, even though there was no evidence pointing to him. And that, I believe, is the reason your father takes Gelt's threats so seriously."

"Wow," marveled Muffy. "He never told me."

"It's not the sort of thing a man shares with his child," said Cooper. "So, Muffy, after what I've told you, do you still want me to bring back the dress?"

She could feel her heart and stomach turning into jelly. _What should I do?_ she wondered. _Should I believe him?_

* * *

To be continued 


	27. No More Pencils, No More Books

Morning arrived, and Muffy found herself alive and in good health, other than not having brushed her teeth. _I must have fallen asleep while trying to make up my mind_, she thought as she pushed herself off the bed. _So what happens now? Will Mr. Gelt really kill us, or is he all bluster?_

"Muffy, get ready for school," said her mother through the door. "By the way, you're grounded."

"Grounded?" said Muffy in disgust. "Why?"

"You know why," said Mrs. Crosswire sternly.

Muffy grumbled bitterly. "You can't ground me forever!" she yelled. "Sooner or later I'll become a burden!"

Sue, in the meantime, relaxed on the easy chair in her nightgown, planning out the day in her mind. _Thanks to the power of the sphere, I can do anything I want_, she told herself. _But there's gotta be a catch. Where did it come from? Who created it, and why? Will I become evil by using it? Do I control it, or does it control me? I should probably destroy the thing…but not yet._

Mr. Krantz, wearing naught but a bathrobe, entered the living room with a steaming plate of pancakes and syrup in his hands. "Your breakfast is served, master," he announced.

Sue set the plate down in her lap, grabbed the fork, and took a greedy bite. "Mmm," she said with pleasure. "They're delicious. Thanks, Mrs. McGrady."

"You're welcome, master," spoke an elderly woman's voice from the kitchen.

The cat girl ate single-mindedly until every crumb and drop of syrup was gone. "Dad, come and fetch my plate," she commanded.

The moose man rushed back to her side. "Yes, master," he said with a polite bow, and cleansed Sue's lips with a wet wipe before making off with the dish.

_It's great to be queen of the world_, thought Sue, sticking her hands behind her curly hair. "Dad," she called, "how would you like to drive me to Springfield today?"

"But, master," came her adoptive father's contrite voice, "wouldn't you rather visit your mother at the hospital?"

"Mom's fine," said Sue indifferently.

"Not only that, master," Mr. Krantz went on, "but I have work today, master." _I can't even stop myself from saying 'master'_, he thought despondently. _This is so degrading._

"Call in sick," Sue instructed him. "Tell 'em you've got smallpox."

"Right away, master," said Krantz, and he marched obediently to the telephone.

Sue tossed the glowing sphere up and down as her brain devised more mischief. _It's not fair that all my friends should have to go to school while I get to go on a trip_, she thought. _Plus, it saves me from having to play catchup tomorrow._

Bringing the ball to her mouth, she declared, "May I have your undivided attention, please. School is cancelled today due to…a cholera outbreak. I repeat, school is cancelled. There is no school today."

As Muffy searched her drawer for fresh underwear, a realization dawned upon her. _There's no school today_, she thought. _I don't have to take a bath yet. I can sleep in! I can…oh, crud, now I'll have to stay home all day!_

Arthur and D.W. were engrossed in a new cartoon entitled _A Joey Called Spooky Poo_ when their mother looked in and said, "Kids, time for breakfast."

D.W. shrugged. "What's the hurry, Mom? School's cancelled today."

After a moment's reflection, Mrs. Read said, "Oh, that's right! How did I forget?"

Mr. Haney lay silently, awash with gratitude that he had finally been let go by the government scientists who had probed every crevice in his body. _And to top it all off, there's no school today_, he thought. _I've got a whole day to myself, to rest and recuperate…only I don't feel like resting at all. I'm bursting with so much energy, I may just run a marathon before breakfast!_

As Sue and Mr. Krantz pulled out of their driveway, the first thing they saw going by was the principal, clad in shorts and sneakers, sweat pouring in rivulets down his neck. To Sue's amazement, the running man's face and body showed absolutely no sign of fatigue. _They saved his life, but they couldn't save April's_, she thought angrily. _I hope the Doctor suffered for what he did to her. I wonder if Clive's powerful enough to bring April back…do I dare ask him?_

They drove past Lakewood Elementary, a vacant shell with neither pupils nor teachers. Albertson High School, also on their route, was similarly devoid of people. _I wonder how far this thing reaches_, thought Sue, fondling the ball in her pocket. _I wonder how many people I can control with it._

Mr. Haney, jogging but not panting, felt as if even the four winds combined couldn't slow him down. He was surprised to discover that all it took was one avid woman seizing him by the arm.

"Herbert!" exclaimed Bitzi Baxter. "You're back! You're well!"

"Er, good morning to you," said the principal courteously.

Buster, bored by the prospect of a day without school, had taken to playing with a bag of carrots. He had a carrot in each ear, two carrots hanging out of his nose, and a half-eaten carrot in his mouth when his mother charged in, dragging the helpless Haney along. "Look who almost got away from me," said the woman with the horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hi, Mr. Haney," said Buster with a weak wave. _He still looks human, more or less_, thought the rabbit boy, _but then again, so did the Terminator…_

"And guess what, Buster," said Bitzi excitedly. "Since school's cancelled today, you and Herbert can play together as much as you want!"

_Catch me, I'm passing out from the rapture_, thought Buster.

"Uh, I see you like carrots," remarked the principal, as Bitzi retired to another room to care for Petula.

"Yeah, I do," said the boy, drawing the vegetables from his nostrils. "I like anything that's food."

"I'll bet I can run a mile with you on my shoulders," Haney boasted.

"Your bionic heart lets you do that?" said Buster, intrigued.

The sweat-soaked principal nodded.

"Can you fly?" the young rabbit asked him.

"Nope, can't fly," was Haney's response.

_What a relief_, thought Buster.

Then, to his alarm, a tall, massive stranger filled the doorway. The pig-nosed man wore a brown suit jacket and a white shirt with an open collar and no tie. His rough face featured a number of scars, as if he had survived a head-on collision with a rhinoceros, and his eyes were jet-black and pitiless. A large belt encircled his waist, and what appeared to be a holster dangled from the belt.

Buster's first impression upon beholding the man was, _Cool! I get to watch Mr. Haney fight a supervillain!_

"Buster, this is Richard, my bodyguard," Haney introduced him. "The government appointed him to keep an eye on me."

"Hey, kid," said the gigantic man, his voice unexpectedly normal.

"Wowwwww," said Buster in awe. Standing up for a closer look, he examined both sides of the stranger as if to ensure he was made of flesh rather than brick.

"You're quite a runner, Haney," said Richard to the principal. "It's all I can do to keep up with you and stay within the speed limit."

"Is that a real gun?" inquired Buster, gesturing at the man's hip.

"Yeah," was Richard's reply. "It squirts real water, too."

Buster grinned at the face that towered above the tips of his ears. "Do you have a nickname?" he asked. "You know, a dangerous nickname that tells people how dangerous you are…something like Bullet, or Trigger, or Magazine, or…or Buttplate."

"Yeah, kid," said the bodyguard. "I got a nickname. They call me…SCRUNCHY."

* * *

To be continued 


	28. Back to School

_My boss'll never buy the smallpox excuse_, thought Mr. Krantz as he stiffly gripped the steering wheel. _I'm sure to lose my job, but I must do as master commands—I can't even begin to resist._

"Don't worry, Dad," said Sue, who was relaxing in the passenger seat with the glowing sphere in one hand. "Once we're done with this trip, you'll get your free will back."

"My master is too kind," said the moose man flatly.

"Yeah, I know," said the cat girl. _This thing scares me_, she thought. _Once I've accomplished my purpose, I'm going to shatter it into a million pieces, and then shatter every one of the pieces into a million pieces. No one will ever abuse its power again…_

They drove past a sign that read, NOW LEAVING YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD.

All throughout the aforementioned neighborhood, the kids began to feel that something was amiss. Just as Buster was about to ask Scrunchy the bodyguard whether he had ever killed a person, he slapped his forehead in consternation: "Omigosh, I'm supposed to be in school right now!"

In a nearby room, Bitzi was explaining her situation to Mr. Haney: "Harry and I are separated now, but I expect the divorce proceedings to take even longer than they did when Bo and I split, since Petula's in the mix now."

"That's perfectly all right," said the principal. "I'm a patient man." His eyes suddenly widened to the point that they were almost as wide as his glasses. "Holy mother of all that's holy, what am I doing _here?_ I'm needed at the school, and I mean right now! There's not a second to lose! I won't even have time to take a shower!"

"Herbert, wait a minute!" called Bitzi as the principal bolted from the room, not looking back.

Seated in their living room, Arthur and D.W. looked away from the TV screen and looked at each other. "_School!_" they exclaimed in unison.

Muffy, lying miserably on her stomach, heard her mother's voice through the crack under the door: "Get dressed, young lady. I don't know how or why, but school is _not_ cancelled after all."

Alan, meanwhile, was theorizing about the latest developments with his mother and Tegan. "First we thought school was out for the day, now we think it's _not_ out for the day," Alan mused. "It's like someone's messing with our minds."

"Maybe it's connected to the zombie incident at your school yesterday," said Tegan.

"It all points to an attempt to undermine our educational system," said Mrs. Powers suspiciously. "But who would want to do that?"

"The Communists," Tegan suggested.

"Or possibly a disgruntled elf," Alan added.

In no time at all, nearly everyone in the vicinity was in a rush to reach Lakewood Elementary, Albertson High, or the as-of-yet-unnamed middle school. Mr. Haney, thanks to his enhanced cardiovascular system, arrived at Lakewood before anyone else—with the unfortunate exception of one person.

"HAAAANEEEEY!" screamed the imposing aardvark man who stood in the school's central court. "It's the middle of first period. Why is Lakewood Elementary _completely empty?_"

The principal swallowed anxiously as a new layer of sweat drenched his skin. "Er, ah, Superintendent Palmer, sir," he stammered. "There's a very reasonable and convincing explanation for this. It has to do with, uh, Daylight Savings Time."

Moments later Arthur and D.W., lunch boxes in hand, bashfully poked their heads through the school doors. "Uh-oh," said D.W. "It's Super Nintendo Palmer."

"And he looks _angry_," remarked her brother.

"Arthur did it!" cried D.W., pointing at him with both hands.

"The list of funny goings-on at this school just gets longer and longer," said the aardvark man to Mr. Haney. "Kids being attacked by ghosts, kids disappearing into thin air, kids turning into zombies…and now, the entire student body absent! I've tolerated this nonsense long enough. If I see another incident like this one, I'll be forced to take drastic action."

"Not _that_," said the principal, terrified. "Don't even _joke_ about stepping down. You're the very glue that holds this district together."

"I'm serious, Haney," said Superintendent Palmer. "After I'm gone, see how _you_ like being glue."

* * *

The whiteboard was filled with scrawled numbers and equations, which Professor John Frink navigated as if they were his native tongue. Scanning one line after another with his laser pointer, the smock-clad scientist babbled, "And if you divide the quantum entanglement coefficient by the determinant of the Hamiltonian matrix, with the rows and the columns and the linear transformations…"

The students in Frink's advanced quantum mechanics course at Springfield Heights Institute of Technology paid rapt attention to his every word, except for those (about half of the class) who were gawking at Ling Tao, his pretty, raven-haired assistant.

"Dude," whispered one of the students to his neighbor, "I am _so_ going to ask that chick on a date."

"Forget it, man," his friend whispered back. "She's a robot."

The first student shrugged. "Well, nobody's perfect."

"…which we will hereafter refer to as a _glavinon_, with the spin and the attraction and the wave-particle duality," Frink went on, and then he abruptly stopped. Without a word of explanation, he switched off his laser pointer, stowed it inside his pocket protector, and marched up the aisle towards the classroom exit.

"Plofessor?" said Ling Tao, sounding more curious than concerned about this development. When Frink failed to answer or even look behind him, the teacher's assistant bolted upright and started to walk hastily after him.

A few of Frink's colleagues hailed him as he trudged through the drab corridors of the Marvin Monroe Memorial Psychology Building, to which the science department had been relocated following the destruction of the Rosen Building. The bespectacled boffin, however, acknowledged no one.

His gait remained constant until he reached the colonnade at the institute's entrance. Waiting for him there was a small cat girl in a green dress and red shoes, and behind her stood a tall, somewhat overweight man with broad antlers.

Frink, upon seeing them, stopped quickly and glanced in confusion at his surroundings. "Ga-hoyven," he cleared his throat. "Could you nice animal people kindly tell me…why am I here, and not at the head of my class, with the teaching and the pop quizzes and the…"

"You will take us to Clive," said Sue, holding the sphere aloft in hopes that Frink could make it out through his thick glasses.

A weird, but not entirely unfamiliar, sensation swept through Frink's tube-like body. "I will…gloyven…take you to Clive," he said meekly.

* * *

To be continued 


	29. Gelt Makes an Offer Muffy Can't Refuse

As Frink readied himself to leave with Sue and Mr. Krantz, his assistant Ling Tao hurried to their side, her black skirt waving in the breeze. "Where are you going, Plofessor?" the young Asian woman inquired.

The scientist responded with a forced grin. "It's…a family emergency, Ling," he explained. "There's no reason for you to get involved."

The teacher's aide looked back and forth between Frink, the cat girl, and the moose man. "_This_ is your famiry?" she said incredulously.

"They're my in-laws," Frink told her. "It's complicated."

"One question before you go," said the girl with the ebony hair. "Suppose you're walking through the desert and you see a tortoise on its back, unable to turn over. Would you help the tortoise, or not?"

"You know me, Ling," said Frink impatiently. "Of course I'd help. Now be a sweetie and finish the lecture for me, will you? That's a good girl, ga-hey."

Her expression one of uncertainty, Ling turned and strolled back to the campus grounds. "Now, then," Sue addressed the professor, "you were going to take us to Clive."

"He's being held at a top-secret facility," Frink told the girl, "with the guards and the guns and the barbed wire and the clearance level needed to get inside, which even I don't have."

"Just take us there," said Sue. "Leave the getting-in part to me."

* * *

Recess was in session at Lakewood, and most of the kids were happy to see Mr. Haney patrolling the playground—especially Prunella, who followed him about constantly, her gaze transfixed on his back. The tall, silent hulk known as Scrunchy eyed her warily, as if concerned she was trying to usurp his position. "Excuse me," said the principal after roughly five minutes of this. "Do you want something, Miss Prufrock?"

The rat girl shook her head. "I'm just glad to see you alive," she gushed. "If you were dead, I'd be a murderer."

"Now, now," said Haney comfortingly. "Nobody blames you for what you did when the aliens controlled your mind."

"_I_ do," said Prunella gloomily. "With this alien chip in my head, I'm a time bomb waiting to explode. Anyone with the right equipment can turn me into a killing machine."

"That's not your fault," said the principal. "Besides, the people with the equipment are all behind bars now."

"Are they really?" said Prunella. "Because when that creepy scientist came to visit, I lost my memory of the whole day. For all I know, he could've opened up my brain and taken a look."

Nearby, on a bench next to the jungle gym, Muffy was dividing her attention between the history book in her hands, and the feelings of dread that plagued her. _My whole family could die because of me_, she thought. _How will my friends go on after I'm dead? When Gelt's mass-produced space dresses hit the stores, how many of them will buy one? I know I can trust Fern not to, and Francine doesn't even like to wear dresses…but what about Sue, and Beat, and Prunella? I can imagine them now, giggling and showing off their new space dresses to each other, and saying, "Muffy who?" Some friends they turned out to be!_

Her cell phone beeped, and she raced to answer it. "Hello?"

"Great news, Muffin," uttered her father's voice. "Mr. Gelt has made a cash offer for the dress!"

Muffy felt as if the weight of a child-sized pine coffin had been lifted from her shoulders. "That's awesome, Daddy," she said gratefully. "How much?"

"Fifty grand," was Mr. Crosswire's reply.

Muffy began to sputter. "Fifty grand? That's…er, let's see…a _tenth_ of what I asked!"

"That's true," said the voice on the phone, "but I think you should take it, if only to get him off our backs and out of our lives."

The monkey girl fiddled with her braid as she pondered her father's statement. _I'm not sure if fifty thousand will be enough to cover Mavis' operation_, she thought. _Not only that, but…_

"How do I know," she asked, "that you won't use all the money for your car business?"

There was a pause on the line. "I'll pay for your friend's operation first," Crosswire spoke up. "Only what's left over will go to the business. You have my word."

_I'm going to hate myself for saying this_. "I don't know if I can still trust you, Dad," she said solemnly.

It was Mr. Crosswire's turn to sputter. "How…how can you not trust your own father?" he protested.

_I sure have a knack for opening Pandora's Box_, thought Muffy. "Tell Mr. Gelt that if he wants to buy the dress, he'll have to talk directly to _me_," she instructed her father.

"Listen to me," said Crosswire insistently. "It's not a good idea to make him angrier than he is already."

"And why not?" said Muffy, feeling confident. "You've seen it for yourself—he'd rather buy the dress fair and square than kill us for it, just like Mr. Coo…er, ah, Mr. Cutler said he would."

After another brief pause Crosswire continued, "You don't really have a choice, Muffy. Even if Gelt pays _you_ for the dress, you can't write a check to the Cutlers without the co-signature of a parent."

_Oh, yeah_, thought Muffy with chagrin. _That's why, when I maxed out my credit card and had to pay for Francine's makeover with a check, I had to get my mom to sign it. Hmm…I don't know how I'll weasel out of this one without some more legal advice…_

* * *

At the end of a paved road that wound through the forest outside Springfield, stood the secret compound where, according to Professor Frink, the boy named Clive had been detained. The structure was simple and quaint—three long, narrow brick buildings connected by skyways, surrounded by unkempt lawns, and protected by a tall chain-link fence with razor wire lining the top. The appearance of the security guards was appropriately fearsome, each one clad in green fatigues and sporting both a pistol and an M-16 rifle. As Mr. Krantz's car pulled up to the entrance gate, Sue was astonished at how little fear she felt. _Nothing can stop me now_, she thought.

Both the moose man and the scientist rolled down their windows as the guards bent over to address them. "Clearance passes, please," said the grim-looking guard on Frink's side.

"We have all the clearance we need right here," said Sue, raising the orb in front of her face. "You're holding a boy named Clive Stewart. You will release him to us immediately."

"We will release him," said the uniformed man emotionlessly.

The guards and Mr. Krantz's car remained in their spots; Sue was certain, based on her experience with the sphere's power, that the workers in the compound were dutifully arranging for Clive to be set free. In the few minutes that passed before the boy emerged, she tormented herself with the question: _Should I ask him to bring April back to life, or should I be content with having things back the way they were? What if this is the only chance I get?_

The aardvark boy, wearing a dull gray uniform, walked steadily towards the stopped automobile in the company of two guards. "There he is," said Sue with elation. "They've been feeding him well, that's for sure."

"What do you want with him?" Frink asked the girl.

"You'll find out soon enough," was Sue's reply.

She lowered the back window as Clive drew closer. "Sue Ellen," said the astonished boy. "It's _you_."

"Hi, Clive," she said with a slight wave.

"I don't understand," said the boy with a blank face. "Are they just letting me go? And why are _you_ here?"

"Clive," said Sue carefully, "do you remember how you changed reality so that my people, the Yordilians, failed to conquer Earth?"

He nodded. "Yes, I remember."

"Good," said Sue triumphantly. "Because you're going to reverse the change. _Now._"

* * *

To be continued 


	30. Doomo Arigato, Miss Roboto

Clive, against his better judgment (indeed, _without_ his better judgment), did his best to visualize the short-haired girl in the Yordilian uniform who had been introduced to him as Sue Ellen. "This should only take a few seconds," he assured Sue, who waited and wrung her hands in the back seat of Mr. Krantz's car.

A buzzing sound became audible throughout the piny forest, and grew in volume. Frink, glancing in the rear-view mirror, witnessed the approach of a helmeted figure on a green motorcycle. _It's Ling_, he realized, observing her jet-black hair as it twisted in the wind. _Glavin be praised! I hope she can find a way to stop Clive, because I can't will myself to do a thing._

"Okay, I got it," said Clive, nodding.

"Wait!" said Sue impulsively. "Someone's coming!"

Someone _had_ come. Before the motorbike even came to a stop, the agile Ling bounded out of her seat, shoved Clive aside with a wave of her slender arm, poked a gloved hand into the car, and wrapped her strong fingers around the sphere. "No! Stop!" cried Sue, but the Asian woman ripped the orb from her grasp almost without effort. The motorcycle, meanwhile, slowed down and apparently parked _itself_.

Mr. Krantz blinked and shook his antlered head. "I can…I can think freely again," he exulted. "It's like coming out of a bad dream."

While the stunned Clive struggled to his feet, Sue groped in vain for the sphere, which now lay in the hands of the woman in the black skirt and helmet. "That's mine! Give it back!" she ordered, her belly resting in the window frame. "Why the heck doesn't it work on you?"

Ling's deep brown eyes were barely visible through her visor. "I'm a robot," she stated with a thick accent. "Haven't you guessed?"

The guards, liberated from the sphere's influence, seized Clive's arms before he had a chance to flee. Frink stood up to commend his teaching assistant, saying, "Just for that, Ling, I'll reinstall your love chip."

"Thank you so much, Plofessor," said the girl as she pulled off her helmet.

Astonished by her easy defeat, Sue climbed out of the vehicle and started to gaze at Ling in admiration. "She's a robot, huh?" the cat girl marveled. "How did she know to follow us?"

"Simple, my curly young friend," replied Frink. "Ling is equipped with a Voigt-Kampff sensor array, which measures human physiological and emotional responses to certain questions, such as the one involving the tortoise. Based on said responses, she can ascertain whether a person has been subjected to hypnosis or mind control, or is in actuality a cyborg replicant, with the implants and the neural nets and the hand smashing through the wall, ga-hoy. The notion of a Voigt-Kampff device was introduced by Philip K. Dick in his science fiction novel, _Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep_, which was later adapted as a…"

"Okay, I get it," snapped Sue. "You can skip the credits."

Ling's pupils darted back and forth in a regular pattern as she examined the pale green orb. "Odd," she remarked. "My X-ray scan detects no mechanism inside this object."

"That's because it's just an innocent rock," Sue insisted. "May I have it back now, please?"

"No!" said Mr. Krantz vehemently. "Don't let her have it! Don't let _anyone_ have it!"

"There is, however, a strange form of low-level radiation emanating from the center of the sphere," stated Ling. "Recommended course of action: study it."

"Recommended course of action, _destroy_ it!" said the livid moose man.

"Patience, my antlered friend," said Frink. "If I destroyed _every_ object that was considered dangerous, well…you know that warehouse where they stored the Ark of the Covenant? It would be utterly empty."

They debated at length—Frink in favor of studying the sphere, Krantz in favor of destroying it—while Sue, unable to take her eyes off Ling, bombarded the shapely robot with question after question. "How old are you?" "How strong are you?" "How high can you jump?" "What do you eat?" "Is there anything you're afraid of?"

"I'm not programmed to experience fear," Ling related. "However, due to the imperfect nature of my algorithms, certain situations render me unable to function."

"Like what?"

"Crowds," was Ling's reply. "When I'm surrounded by a large number of people, the sensory input overload makes my brain shut down. Michael Bay movies have the same effect."

Seeing that his efforts to change Frink's mind were futile, Mr. Krantz decided to go his way. He pulled his car back onto the country road with Sue in the passenger seat, while Frink hitched a ride to his lab on the back of Ling's motorcycle. Though it was early December, the sunshine and the deep greenness of the pine needles created an illusion of spring.

Sue sighed dejectedly. "I failed," she muttered to herself. "I could've given Earth back to the Yordilians, but I wasn't quick enough or smart enough. Well, at least I got to meet a cool robot."

Mr. Krantz scowled as he drove. "Let's say you _are_ an anti-Sue from another dimension," he said darkly. "Then what happened to the real Sue…_my_ Sue?"

The cat girl shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she's in _my_ dimension. Maybe she doesn't exist anymore. I don't really care. I mean…the Doctor _killed_ April, but she helped him anyway. She helped him to fight against her own people! What the heck happened to me in this dimension to make me _that_ stupid?"

"If you met her, you'd like her," said Mr. Krantz.

"If I met her," said Sue peevishly, "the resulting paradox would unravel the space-time continuum and destroy all reality. Which is fine by me, because I don't _want_ to meet her."

* * *

As Rodentia Ratburn marched into the principal's office, she noticed what she thought was a man standing next to Mr. Haney's desk. Upon further examination she realized that the man was actually sitting down. The rat woman looked up and down, from his bald spot to his enormous leather shoes, astonished at the sight of such a large human being. When her eyes landed on his hip, she beheld something that troubled her even more.

"Herbert," she said coldly, "there's a man with a gun sitting in front of me."

Mr. Haney merely grinned. "He's my bodyguard," he explained. "He has a carry permit."

"Permit, schmermit," said Rodentia. "That makes it legal, but that doesn't make it right. If I were still in charge, I'd have Godzilla here thrown out on his tail."

The hulking man spoke up, his tone disarming. "I'm sorry if you object to my presence, ma'am. The government feels strongly that Mr. Haney needs protection, because of the sensitive piece of technology that's keeping him alive."

Miss Ratburn smiled slightly. "No offense intended, stranger. Do you have a name?"

"Yes, ma'am," the bodyguard replied. "It's Richard Tulev. I also go by the nickname Scrunchy."

Rodentia fought back a giggle. "Scrunchy?" she said incredulously. "Don't people laugh at you?"

"Not if they know what's good for them, ma'am," was Scrunchy's response.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Richard," said Rodentia, putting out her hand. Though the bodyguard's hand was nearly three times the size of hers, his grip proved to be gentle.

"Is there something you need to talk to me about?" the principal asked her.

Rodentia turned a blank face to him. "I…don't remember," she said, "but it'll come back to me." Looking at the tall stranger again, she inquired, "I'm curious…what does a big man like you do with your spare time?"

"Spare time?" Scrunchy repeated. "Well, I'm a bodyguard, so I don't really have any. But when I do get a break, I like to play my guitar and make wood carvings."

"Interesting," mused the rat woman.

"And this is gonna sound funny," said the pig-faced man, "but my favorite thing in the whole world…is _fudge._"

Rodentia's heart nearly shot out of her throat. _A man who likes fudge…I didn't think there were any left!_

* * *

To be continued 


	31. Fudge Factor

By the time Sue and Mr. Krantz reached Lakewood Elementary, the last period of the day was nearly over. The cat girl, looking sullen and embarrassed, slowly walked to her desk and sat down. Snickers could be heard here and there in the classroom. "I guess _somebody_ didn't get the memo that school wasn't cancelled," Binky whispered to Arthur.

Sue felt an urge to glare lethally at everyone around her, but was too miserable to do so. _If only those drones could understand what I've lost through my carelessness_, she thought. _If only they could understand what the billions of girls and women of my home planet, Yordil, have lost._

"In keeping with this year's theme of diversity awareness," said their replacement teacher, Mrs. Pike, "I'd like each of you to write a report on what you think your life would be like if you belonged to a different species. I've written the species assignments on the board. If you're an aardvark person, write about your life as a moose person. If you're a rabbit person, write about your life as a monkey person. If you're a…"

"Excuse me, Mrs. Pike," said Beat, raising her hand slowly due to the pain in her chest. "I'm half rabbit and half aardvark. What should _I_ write about?"

The teacher (who, though she didn't like having it pointed out, was a duck person) thought for a moment and asked, "Which do you _consider_ yourself, Beatrice?"

Beat responded with a blank, confused gaze, and the bell rang. The children, those from Mrs. Pike's class and those who had been transplanted from that of Mrs. Krantz, stood up politely and began to stuff their book bags.

A tall poodle boy, a stranger to Beat, strolled up to the girl's desk and asked eagerly, "Hey, Beatrice, can I sign your cast?"

"Why, certainly," said Beat with phony pleasantness. "But only write on the part you can see."

"But I can't see _any_ of it," said the boy with a shrug.

Beat only grinned and nodded.

"I haven't been totally honest with you," said the tall boy. "When I asked to sign your cast, what I really wanted was to _see_ your cast."

"I figured as much," said Beat darkly.

"So, how 'bout it?" said the boy. "Can I see your cast?"

"If I knew you," said Beat with a menacing stare, "I would kill you."

The boy wandered off with a petulant scowl, only to be replaced by George. "Hey, Beat, can I sign your cast?" the moose boy inquired.

Elsewhere, Miss Ratburn hurried away from her teaching duties to locate Mr. Haney, and his ever-present bodyguard Scrunchy, in the principal's office. Both cowed and intrigued by the man's immense body, the rat woman strained to come up with a subject for small talk. "Hello, Richard," she said nervously. "I was meaning to ask you…have you ever gone to the Fudge Festival on Mackinac Island?"

The bodyguard laid a finger on his rocklike chin. "No, but I hope to someday," he replied. "I don't get much opportunity for travel."

"It's not far at all," Rodentia assured him. "Like everything else in the United States, it's less than a half-day's drive from Elwood City."

"I should check it out," said Scrunchy. "Have you been there?"

"Oh, I go every year," said Miss Ratburn. "I especially love the Amaretto Chocolate Chip and the Rum Nut."

"Myself, I'm a Rocky Road man," the bodyguard boasted.

_He even looks like a rocky road_, Rodentia said to herself. "Every time I go, I end up gaining five pounds," she admitted. "And that weight never comes off."

"Really," said Scrunchy, examining the rat woman's slender figure. "How long ago were you a ghost?"

* * *

As they had the previous day, Alan and Tegan traveled from their schools directly to the hospital. On this occasion they hoped to obtain more information from the stricken Mansch, and to their relief, they found the man in a state of greater lucidity.

"Alan, Tegan," said Mansch weakly. "Welcome. Come in." He made a weak gesture with his arm, which, judging by the grimace on his face, required all his strength and endurance to perform.

"Hello, Ray," said Tegan cheerfully. "I sent you a get-well card. Scientific studies show that get-well cards work at least as well as prayer."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Tegan," said the cat man, his breathing labored. "However, I'm not the man you…"

"Enough lies," Alan cut in rudely. "I want the truth."

"You can't handle the truth," said Mansch. "In my state, I don't know if I can even handle _telling_ you the truth."

"You were mind-wiped," said Alan. "There shouldn't be anything left of you."

"The _mind_ of Raymond Mansch was destroyed, yes," the man began to explain. "But I am another mind, having taken up residence in his shell of a body."

"_Another_ mind?" said Alan incredulously.

"But…who could do that?" Tegan wondered. "I mean, besides _us_, back when we had powers."

"Who are you?" Alan demanded.

Mansch smiled slightly. "As difficult as it may be for you to believe," he said with perfect calmness, "_I am the Professor._"

* * *

Having been consigned to her room immediately upon arriving home, Muffy lay helplessly on her bed, shoes still on, trying to entertain herself with the most recent issue of _Mature Miss_. As she was halfway through reading an article entitled _The Sanitary Napkin Is Your Friend_, her phone sounded. Laying the magazine on the second pillow (the one her head wasn't on), she reached for the cellular device on the end table. "Hello, Muffy Crosswire speaking."

A voice that sent shivers of fear racing up and down her back simply uttered, "Miss Crosswire."

_This is it_, she thought. _Me, Mr. Gelt, and no one else. I've got to sound as mature as possible. I've got to prove to him that he's not dealing with a little girl, but with a little woman…a little woman with buns of steel!_

"Miss Crosswire?" the voice said again. "Are you there?"

"Speak up," said Muffy defiantly. "I can't ignore you if I can't hear you."

There was a bit of silence on the line, followed by the declaration, "I want to meet with you."

_He wants face time with The Muffler_, she thought boldly. "Okay, Mr. Gelt, we'll meet," she said into the cell phone. "When, where, and why?"

"I want to negotiate a price for the dress," the old man answered. "If fifty thousand won't satisfy you, I'm willing to go a little higher."

"Talk to me," said Muffy. "I'm listening."

"You'll find me at the Muffin Man Café at five p.m.," said Gelt. "And no parents. Leave yours at home, and I'll leave mine at home."

"Agreed," said Muffy with aplomb. "Be seein' you."

Gelt hung up, and Muffy immediately started to dial the number of a friend.

"Hello?"

"Fern!" she cried desperately. "You gotta help me!"

* * *

to be continued 


	32. Muffy's Invisible Friend

Mansch struggled valiantly to speak. "The sphere," he said urgently. "Did you find it? Did you destroy it?"

"I don't know what sphere you're talking about," said Alan sharply. "What's more, I don't believe for a moment that you're really the Professor."

"Whether you…believe me or not…is irrelevant," said the cat man between painful breaths. "The unicorns are plotting a monumental power grab, and the sphere is central to it somehow. I was able to rip that much out of their minds…before they killed me."

"_Killed_ you?" said Tegan, startled.

Mansch did his best to nod. "I always suspected that I had the power to transport my consciousness into another host," he related. "Mansch was a body without a soul, so I saw him as a likely candidate, in the event I should meet with a violent end."

Still dubious, Alan decided to put the injured man to a test. "Jean Greyhound is dead," he stated.

An almost visible wave of grief spread through Mansch's body. His eyes teared up, his torso quivered, and the quivering prompted him to whimper with pain. "Jean," he moaned. "My Jean…"

"I'm sorry," said Alan sincerely.

Tegan began to retreat from the bedside. "I'm sorry too," she told her brother and Mansch. "I can't watch someone cry…I just can't."

Once he was alone in the hospital room with Alan, Mansch went on with his tale: "Even in human form, I offered what assistance I could to my comrades, the X-Pets. I tried to take the sphere from your young alien friend, but I was stopped by what I can only describe as a hypnotic influence. The X-Pets managed to pry it from her hands, but the Sentinels were waiting, and a battle ensued. Without the benefit of my telepathic coordination, my friends were hopelessly overmatched—in the end, those who could stand were forced to flee for their lives. I entrusted the sphere to Nightgrowler, asking him to teleport somewhere and either hide it, or leave it with an animal who was sympathetic to us. Shortly after he disappeared I was hit, and now here I am."

Alan marveled at the account he had heard. "This is a lot to take in," said the bear boy. "There are two main things I'm curious about—what are the unicorns planning, and what's it like to be human after all those years of being a dog?"

"I'll tell you everything I know," Mansch offered, "but before I do…would you please scratch my neck? It itches terribly."

Despite feelings of unease, Alan bent over, inserted his fingers into the hollow spot below Mansch's head, and began to fondle the skin with his nails. _I can't believe what I'm doing_, he thought.

"Aaaah," said the cat man elatedly. "That feels good, though not quite as good as it did when I was a dog."

"Okay, I'm scratching your neck," Alan pointed out. "Now, what do you know about the unicorns' plan?"

Mansch sighed blissfully. "Nothing I haven't already told you, Alan."

* * *

"If I Were a Rabbit Girl, by Fern Walters. If I were a rabbit girl, not a poodle girl, nobody would call me Fifi. I hate being called Fifi, especially because that's not my name. On the other hand, if I were a rabbit girl, everybody would make fun of my ears. There's really nothing wrong with having long ears. Not only can you hear better, but you can semaphore your neighbor with a minimum of labor." 

She had jotted down two full pages in this style by the time she received Muffy's call. "Fern, you gotta help me!" was the monkey girl's plea.

"Calm down, Muffy," said Fern. "I'll tell you the same thing I told Francine—being a poodle girl isn't anything special, except you can use your ears as a mop."

"That's not what I'm talking about," said Muffy anxiously. "Mr. Gelt called me. He called _me_. He wants to meet with me at five o'clock at the Muffin Man, to haggle over the price of the dress."

"Gelt called _you?_" said Fern, surprised. "How'd he get your cell number?"

"I don't know," replied Muffy. "Maybe my dad gave it to him."

"I guess it doesn't matter," said Fern. "The important thing is, you've got him making concessions."

Muffy paused for a section, imagining Gelt in a plastic apron, dispensing hamburgers and curly fries from a booth at the state fair.

"Muffy?"

"Huh?" said the distracted girl. "Oh, right. So, how about it, Fern? Can you be there at five o'clock?"

Fern's tone became serious. "I think you'll do fine without me, Muffy. After all, you're the one who understands money, and bargaining, and the finer points thereof."

"True," said Muffy hesitantly, "but I'll feel a lot safer if you're there with me."

After a bit of deliberation Fern replied, "I'll do you one better, Muffy. I'll be there, _and_ I'll be invisible."

"Invisible?" said Muffy, her curiosity piqued.

"I still have April's stone of invisibility," the poodle girl told her. "Gelt won't know I'm there, so I can snoop on him if I get the chance. I won't try to talk to you or contact you in any way—I'll just be there, at the café, invisible, at five o'clock."

The silence on the line seemed to last half a minute. Finally Muffy spoke up, her voice filled with gratitude. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Fern. You're such a good friend, you make all my other friends look like enemies."

"It's what I do," said Fern unassumingly.

_

* * *

I lost a dog, but I gained a man_, thought Alan as he marched, hands in pockets, in the direction of Arthur's house. _It's too weird to believe. What will this mean to our relationship? Mansch had better not ask me to give him a bath every day…_

The scene he saw at the Read home was typical—Arthur doing homework in his room, D.W. enjoying an episode of _New Moo Revue_, and their father preparing crudités in the kitchen. He announced his presence with a glib "Hey, everybody."

Arthur left his desk and looked down from the second floor. "What's up, Alan?" he inquired.

"I just wanted to know," Alan addressed him and D.W., "if either of you has seen a weird sphere floating around."

"A sphere that floats around _would_ be weird," remarked Mr. Read.

"Oh, you mean the zombie sphere," said D.W.

"_Zombie_ sphere?" said Alan with alarm. "You mean the sphere was responsible for what happened at the school yesterday?"

The little aardvark girl nodded. "Sue Ellen's got it," she informed Alan. "She yoinked it away from me."

Alan's next stop was Sue's house. "What do you know about the sphere?" he inquired of the curly-haired girl.

"It's some kind of scary magical weapon," she replied. "When I had it, I could make anyone do anything I commanded. Remember this morning, when you all thought school was cancelled? It was the sphere that made you think that."

"Interesting," mused Alan.

"Why do _you_ care about the sphere?" Sue asked him.

"I have it from a friend," the boy replied, "that the sphere was created for some evil purpose, and has to be destroyed."

"Hmm," said Sue, intrigued. "Well, I'd love to help you destroy it, Alan, but I don't have it anymore. Professor Frink and his robot yoinked it away from me."

Predictably, Alan's next step was to call up Springfield Tech. "You've reached the laboratory of Professor John Frink," he heard the professor's recorded voice say. "I am either on the phone, away from my desk, convulsing on the floor with intense spasms of PAIN IN THE GLAVIN!, or simply waiting for you to start talking so I'll know whether you're someone I like. Please leave a message at the beep. Frink out."

Alan heard a tone and began to speak: "Dr. Frink, it's me, Alan Powers. I need to talk to you about…"

"Hello, Alan," an apparently living voice said to him. "How are you this fine day, gloyven?"

"Oh, it's you," said the boy.

"No, it's _not_ me," the voice responded. "I'm merely his answering service, with the voice recognition and the artificial intelligence and the programmed responses, ga-hoyven."

"_You're_ an answering service?" said Alan, impressed yet skeptical. "But you say 'gloyven' and 'ga-hoyven' and all that, just like Dr. Frink does."

"I do _not_," the voice insisted.

"Whoever, or whatever, you are," said Alan, "I need to talk to you about the sphere. I believe it's a key element in an evil plot."

"Oh, there's no question about it," said the Frink voice. "Unfortunately, the sphere is no longer in my possession—the _unicorns_ yoinked it away from me."

* * *

To be continued 


	33. Jenny Tightlips

"I never touched the sphere myself," said Frink as he related his tale to Alan. "Ling did all the handling. I was afraid I'd be corrupted by its power, with the echoing voice and the maniacal laughter and whatnot. Not long after Ling had inserted the sphere into the Tomographic Gamma Blaster for analysis, the lab door was torn off its hinges, and a man and woman in blue robes came in. It wasn't hard to tell they were unicorns. One of them, the man, caused the sphere to shoot out of the machine and into his hand. Ling tried to snatch it away from him, but the woman stunned her with an electrical shock. I asked them what they wanted, as if it wasn't obvious, and all the man had to say was, 'The testing phase is complete.' I tried to chase them as they ran, but they were too fast."

Feelings of dread haunted Alan. "Well, _this_ is less than optimal," he remarked. "If turning everybody at Lakewood Elementary into zombies was just a test, then what'll happen to the world when the sphere enters active duty?"

"It's not _that_ powerful," said Sue, who was standing expectantly behind the boy. "I think it only affects people within a mile or two, and that's not enough to control the whole world."

"Yes," said Alan, cupping his hand over the phone receiver, "unless a mile or two is all they need. Think Washington D.C., or the United Nations headquarters."

"I'm teaching this week," Frink told him, "but I can make it to Elwood City on Friday evening. Gather up all your friends who have experience with the unicorns, and we'll hold a powwow, with the brainstorming and the buckskin outfits and the indigenous dancing, ga-hoy."

Alan hung up the phone and turned to the cat girl. "It doesn't make sense," he said with a slight shrug. "If the unicorns have such a powerful weapon, why have they waited until now to use it?"

"Yeah," said Sue thoughtfully. "It would've come in handy when we were fighting Dark Augusta."

"Dr. Frink has the right idea," said Alan. "We should talk to everyone who's met a unicorn—Arthur, Francine, D.W., Fern…"

At that moment Arthur, Francine, and D.W. were visiting Buster's condo and getting acquainted with Principal Haney's new constant companion, Scrunchy. The muscular bodyguard was demonstrating his strength by holding both Arthur and Francine aloft as they clung to his massive biceps.

"I want a turn! I want a turn!" whined D.W.

"Are you kidding?" said Arthur, dangling from Scrunchy's arm. "He could lift you with his pinky toe, without even putting us down."

"I may be strong, but I'm not _that_ strong," said the tall man with a chuckle.

"Oh, sure you are," said Buster, who stood nearby. "You're so big and tough, you should go into California politics." Turning quickly to his mother, he asked, "Mom, if you and Mr. Haney get married, will Scrunchy get to live with us?"

Bitzi shot him a patronizing grin. "What makes you think Herbert and I are going to get married, Buster?"

"Well," replied the rabbit boy, "you two _are_ holding hands on the love seat. You and Harry did that all the time before you got married."

"Yes," said Bitzi, nodding. "We also did _this_ all the time," she added, leaning over to deliver a peck to the principal's cheek. "But that doesn't mean we're getting married."

"Okay," said Buster, who was beginning to understand. "But if you do marry Mr. Haney, will Scrunchy live with us too?"

His mother responded with a somewhat pained look. "Excuse me, Herbert," said the woman with the horn-rimmed glasses, and she rose to lead Buster into another room. Once inside, she closed the door quietly and started to explain matters to her son, while Petula dozed peacefully in the background.

"Richard's time with us is limited," she told the rabbit boy. "He was appointed to watch Herbert as a temporary solution. Right now the government's trying to come up with a permanent way to keep him safe—and when I say permanent, I mean, the rest of his life."

Buster stared blankly, having missed her point.

"When you and I went to Torchwood to protect Petula," Bitzi went on, "it was only until the end of the Yordilian invasion. It's different with Herbert. He _needs_ his bionic heart to stay alive, which means he'll be marked forever."

"But if somebody steals his heart, he'll die," said Buster.

"Exactly," said his mother, "and the world's full of people who won't stop at killing him to possess the technology. There's not much he can do besides hide out under a false identity, or move to another planet. I'd have to _really_ love him in order to follow him into such a crazy life, and I'm not to that point yet."

"But…but he's got Scrunchy," said Buster, his concern growing. "Nobody can get past Scrunchy."

"Scrunchy is only one man," said Bitzi understandingly. "There's a limit to what one man can do, regardless of what the movie trailers say."

The conversation left Buster with mixed feelings—chagrin over Scrunchy's imminent departure, and relief that the danger of his mother marrying Principal Haney had faded away for the moment. As he returned to the living room, he observed that the bodyguard's audience had been joined by Sue and Alan.

"Hey, Alan," said Arthur, greeting the bear boy. "Did you find your sphere?"

"No," replied Alan ominously. "It's in the hands of the unicorns."

"That's not good," said Arthur, shaking his head. "Two of the X-Pets died to keep the sphere away from them."

"Three," Alan corrected him. "They killed the Professor too."

"Oh, no!" cried D.W. "The poor little wheelie dog!"

"What'll they do with the sphere?" Francine wondered. "Turn us all into their slaves?"

"Wouldn't _that_ be something," mused D.W.

In her mind she pictured a vast, grimy factory, where thousands of children were compelled by whip-bearing guards to stitch together stuffed unicorn dolls. One of the slaves, Arthur, completed his doll and laid it on a conveyor belt, which carried it into a room marked Quality Assurance. In this room sat D.W., Nadine, and Vicita, who greeted each incoming unicorn with a warm hug.

Arthur paused to gasp and wipe his brow with his sleeve. "I _hate_ this job," he muttered.

Immediately, the masked unicorn who stood above him started to strike him with a whip, shouting, "Di-di mao! Di-di mao!"

"They _created_ the sphere," Alan observed in the real world. "They could've enslaved us a long time ago. I don't think that's what they want."

"Wait a minute," said Arthur. "If the unicorns made the sphere, how did it end up in Pal's mouth?"

"Hmm," said Alan, searching his brain. "Nightgrowler must've left it with him for safe-keeping."

"Who the heck's Nightgrowler?" Sue inquired.

"He's one of the X-Pets," replied Alan. "His power is to teleport over long distances."

"Jenny was there when the X-Pets had their battle," Arthur recalled. "Maybe she can give us some answers."

Alan, Sue, Arthur, Francine, and D.W. hurried in the direction of George's house, passing by the Muffin Man Café, where a little girl with red braids waited anxiously, alone at a table for two.

Muffy glanced left and right, seeing numerous patrons consuming coffee and muffins, but not the person she expected to not see. "I can't see you, Fern, but I know you're there," she said with quiet confidence.

Jenny the alien girl was seated in the Nordgrens' living room, scanning a catalogue for a brand of nail polish that contained no chemicals toxic to her species, when the five friends arrived. "Hi, everybody," she said in her multiple-channel voice.

"Hi, Jenny," said Alan. "We need to talk to you about some things, like the sphere, and the unicorns, and where they took you when they abducted you."

_The unicorns_, thought Jenny uneasily. _I'd better keep quiet. What if their story about being a persecuted minority is true?_

"Unicorns are mythical," the Kressidan girl insisted.

"So are aliens," Francine snapped back.

"This is important, Jenny," said Alan. "We believe the unicorns may be planning something dangerous."

_He could be right. He could just be paranoid. Maybe the whole of humanity is paranoid about the unicorns. What should I believe?_

"I'm from another planet," said Jenny condescendingly, "and even _I_ know unicorns aren't real."

"We _know_ you were taken by unicorns," said Arthur, but the artichoke-headed girl merely turned her gaze back to the catalogue.

* * *

To be continued 


	34. Show Muffy the Money

When Muffy saw Mr. Gelt shuffle into the Muffin Man coffee shop, she surmised that he was wearing the same suit, spats, and top hat as the previous day, when he had struck her with his cane. The old man's face was a mask of impatient disdain, as if he was holding a grudge against a mosquito for stealing a drop of his blood. _Here he comes_, thought Muffy. _Don't be afraid. Fern is watching. Nothing can hurt me._

Gelt yanked a chair from Muffy's table, groaned as he sat down, and laid the cane over his lap. "Ahem," he began. "Let's make this quick. I have pressing matters to attend to."

"Oh, _do_ you?" said Muffy with a wry grin. "You've spent the past few days in Elwood City, _hounding_ my family, trying to split _my_ head open with your freaking walking stick…and now you tell me I'm not even your top priority?"

"You will _not_ take that tone with me," said Gelt sharply. "I have it in my power to crush you—and not only you, but your parents, and even your brother who's away at college."

Muffy pushed aside the mental image of a gigantic thumb swooping down from the sky. "Yet with all your power," she remarked, "you're here, sitting in a café, making deals with a fifth grader."

"Indeed," said Gelt, his voice softening. "A fifth grader who labors under the delusion that fifty thousand dollars isn't more than enough to keep her wardrobe in fashion."

Muffy scowled at him. "You think I want the money for myself?" she snapped. "I have a good friend who's about to lose her eyesight because her family can't afford retinal surgery. If it helps her, I'm willing to wear the same old ratty dress and scuffed-up shoes day in and day out, for a whole _month_ if I have to."

"If that's all you want, then the solution is simple," said Gelt. "I'll pay for your friend's surgery in exchange for the dress, and everyone will be happy."

"Except for one small problem," said Muffy. "The Cutlers won't accept your money."

"Cutlers, eh?" said Gelt thoughtfully.

_Oops_, thought Muffy with dismay.

"My money is as good as anyone else's," said the old man.

"You don't understand," said Muffy earnestly. "They don't want anything to do with you _at all_."

"Harumph," was the sound that emerged from Gelt's throat.

"However," Muffy went on, "I have a friend in Crown City who's willing to act as a go-between. The dress is with him now, and he'll gladly give it up in exchange for the modest sum of"—she laid the tip of her pinky against her lips—"_two hundred thousand dollars_."

Outraged, Gelt flew to his feet, and his cane clattered on the floor. "Two hundred thousand!" he roared, the café patrons looking on in astonishment. "Do you think I'm made of money?"

"Well, _yes_," said Muffy.

"You, young lady, are trying to _rob_ me," said Gelt, pointing an indignant finger at her.

"As if _you've_ never robbed anyone," said Muffy seriously.

The old man's face turned blood red. "I'll fry you like a chicken!" he threatened.

Muffy swallowed. _He's so scary! I've got to stand up to him…it's what Fern would do…_

"Sit down, Meriwether," she said with all the calmness she could muster. "For you, two hundred thousand is a drop in the bucket, especially compared to the fortune you'll rake in from mass-producing optical fabrics. For Mavis, it could mean the difference between seeing and not seeing, and for me, the difference between studying fashion design in Europe, and a lifetime of regret."

Gelt's navy blue eyes seemed to shoot needles through the girl's brain. "You're a foolish, overreaching child," he said, "but I'll humor you, since my granddaughter's getting married this weekend. Seventy-five thousand, and not a penny more."

"Seventy-five thousand?" said Muffy, feigning shock. "Do I look like I'm made of _poor?_"

"Take it or leave it," said Gelt.

"Two hundred thousand," said Muffy forcefully. "_You_ take it or leave it." _I could go lower_, she thought, _but I'm not very good at subtraction._

Once again Mr. Gelt stood up. "I don't have time for this," he complained. "I'll find these Cutlers of which you speak, and I'll make _them_ an offer they can't refuse."

Muffy clenched her fists under the table. _You stay away from Mavis! He's bluffing. He's gotta be bluffing. Bluffingbluffingbluffingbluffing…_

"I bid you good day," said Gelt gruffly, and he bent over, retrieved his cane, and walked haltingly away from Muffy's table.

_He doesn't have time to look up all the Cutlers in the city_, thought Muffy. _I suppose he could pay one of his goons to do it…but his goons must be busy too, or else he wouldn't have seen me personally. Mavis is safe. I'm safe. It's just like Mr. Cooper said._

"I couldn't have done it without you, Fern," she said sweetly. "Thanks loads."

There was no answer. She saw and heard nothing.

"Fern…?"

* * *

to be continued 


	35. Off to See the Wizard

"Okay, Fern, he's gone," said Muffy to the empty air. "You can stop being invisible now." The café patrons stared quizzically at the girl, wondering if this was some heretofore undocumented effect of coffee consumption on children.

She hoped for a poodle girl to appear or speak, but none did. "Fern? Are you there?" she called out. Suspicion crept into her heart. "All right, maybe you're _not_ there," she said, disappointment and hurt in her voice. "Maybe you weren't there all along, you little b!tch."

Fuming, Muffy marched with clenched fists and bouncing braids from the Muffin Man shop all the way to Fern's house. She knocked—or rather, pounded—on the door, and was shortly greeted by Mrs. Walters. "Come in, Muffy," said the smiling poodle woman. "Fern went to the library, but she'll be back any minute."

"The library," grumbled Muffy as she stepped inside. "It figures. That good-for-nothing goldbricker, lounging in front of a _book_ when she's supposed to be helping me."

She waited on the couch, her only companion a bitter frown, until Fern made her way back home. "Well, hello," she said sarcastically upon seeing a pile of books in the girl's arms. "I hope you had as much fun at the library as I had at the café, sitting _all alone_ with Mr. Gelt."

"What are you talking about?" said Fern innocently. "I was there the whole time."

"Liar!" Muffy bellowed.

Fern laid her books on the coffee table in an orderly fashion, one by one. "I told you I wouldn't try to contact you in any way," she reminded her friend.

"You two-faced sneak," Muffy chided her. "Of course you wouldn't contact me. You _couldn't_ contact me. _You weren't there._"

"I _was_ there," said Fern with more earnestness. "I overheard the entire conversation. You asked for two hundred thousand, Gelt made a counter-offer of seventy-five thousand, you turned it down, and he threatened to fry you like a chicken."

"But you…" Muffy started to say, and Fern's words rang like an alarm bell in her head.

"I guess you're not used to working with invisible people," said Fern. "I understand."

Muffy lowered her face sheepishly. "I'm sorry for popping off like that. But…you could have said something, or tapped my shoulder, so I'd know."

The poodle girl spoke in a serious tone. "I was in a hurry to leave," she explained. "I didn't want Gelt to see me, or even suspect I was there. I stayed invisible until I was out of sight, then I ducked behind a bush, picked up some books I had hidden to make my mom think I'd been at the library, and became visible again."

Once she had processed Fern's story, Muffy inquired, "Why were you so afraid of being seen by Mr. Gelt?"

Fern took a seat on the cushion next to her. "Do you think I'm brave?" she asked.

"Yes," said Muffy, nodding.

The floppy-eared girl looked away in shame. "Well, I'm not," she admitted. "I'm like one of the kids on _Spooky Poo_—I like to solve a mystery when I get a chance, but when a monster comes after me, I run away."

"Don't talk like that," said Muffy, resting her hands on her friend's shoulders.

"Gelt _frightens_ me," Fern continued. "He's mean, he's cruel…he's _evil_. I'll bet he kidnaps kids like us and puts them to work in a sweatshop. He hasn't hurt you yet, but only because you have something he wants. I can't stand and face him like you can, Muffy."

The monkey girl gaped incredulously. "But I was drawing on _you_ for the courage to do that," she stated.

Fern shook her head. "Two years ago I didn't even have enough courage to speak up in class," she recalled. "I don't think even the Wizard of Oz could give me the courage to bargain with Gelt the way you did. It was your own courage all along, Muffy."

"But…but…"

"When I switched one of Mavis' towels for the dress, that was just being smart," said Fern. "I can't be your guard dog."

Muffy smiled faintly and took the girl by the hand. "If only the Wizard of Oz could make me as smart as you," she said wistfully.

Fern grinned with amusement. "Courage for me, brains for you…and a _heart_ for Mr. Gelt."

* * *

Thursday passed by without incident. Neither Muffy nor her parents saw or heard a trace of the dreaded Gelt. Francine conversed frequently with Pokey by phone, but the man spoke noncommittally when it came to his planned visit and Mr. Frensky's challenge. Alan and Tegan visited Mansch at the hospital, and learned to their joy that his condition was steadily improving. Regarding the mysterious sphere and the designs of the unicorns, however, he could offer them no further light.

On Friday afternoon, Professor Frink hummed carelessly as his computerized driving assistant, Aida, piloted him and his car along the highway from Springfield to Elwood City. _Those poor chumps, having to grip their steering wheels constantly_, he thought, looking around at the other drivers. _And all I have to do is sit here, with the sitting and the sitting and the continued sitting, while Aida takes care of everything. As soon as I've worked the kinks out of my teleportation device, I won't even have to sit—I'll just push a button, and wham! Prototype XJ7 shows promise, but prototype XJ6…oh, what an embarrassment. I put a male dog through XJ6, and out the other end came a female dog with a litter of pups!_

"Good afternoon, Professor Frink," uttered the angelic, synthesized voice of Aida. "Perhaps I can interest you in a news broadcast about the arrival of Alliance diplomats in New York City."

"Mmm, sounds historic," said Frink idly. "Sure, I'll listen. Ga-hoyven."

The vehicle's sophisticated speaker system transmitted the voice of CNN reporter Wolf Blitzen. "So far the Hilton staff's handling of the special needs of the alien diplomats has been exemplary," he reported. "I'm told that the diplomat from Agallok requested a diet of _live wasps_, and the hotel staff was quick to comply. Some rooms have been specially heated to 150 degrees Farenheit, while others have been cooled to 30 below, in an attempt to simulate the conditions on the diplomats' home planets."

The news station abruptly fell silent. "What the glavin?" said the annoyed Frink.

After roughly a minute of dead air, Blitzen resumed his report. "The unicorns are our enemies," he said coldly. "We must kill them. We must kill them _all_."

* * *

To be continued 


	36. Madness in Manhattan

George, Sal, and their houseguest Jenny were following the coverage of the alien visit on their TV set. The screen showed the lavish lobby of the Times Square Hilton, which was packed to overflowing with busy humans, busy aliens, and vigilant Thrag security guards. In one of the more thinly peopled conference rooms a news camera had been set up, and CNN anchorwoman Amistad O'Brien was introducing an eight-foot-tall, bloblike creature to the viewing audience. "Ambassador G'lump would like to tell the people of Earth that he is, er, much pleased to encircle them about the waist. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense, but as you can see the ambassador has no mouth, so he has to communicate telepathically. He also says that…your planet is glorious full of mineral assets, including the black fluid of internal combustion, and he looks forward to exchanging fluids with you."

Jenny scowled and shook her head. "Those greedy G'lumpoids," she remarked. "They used up all the oil on their home world, so now their whole society is geared towards scavenging the stuff from other planets, legally _or_ illegally. You Earthlings could learn a thing or two from their bad example."

"So, Jenny," said George, "now that the Alliance is setting up shop on Earth, do you think you'll be leaving us?"

The alien girl grinned at him. "I've had such a blast here, George," she said, "but my parents don't even know if I'm still alive, so they must be worried sick. I'll go as soon as a permanent space portal is established, but you can be sure I'll visit often. After all, a Kressidan with my level of experience should have no trouble getting a job as a cultural liaison."

"We'll miss you, Jenny," said Sal glumly. "We really will."

As Jenny stretched her slender arm around the moose girl's shoulders, she noticed a startling disruption of the news broadcast. More than a dozen figures in blue robes had appeared in the conference room, most of them quite tall, and every one distinguished by a golden horn attached to the forehead. Two in particular were recognizable to Jenny as the von Horsteins, who had served as her hosts during her period of underground captivity.

George rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "Unicorns," he marveled. "Unicorns on CNN."

"What are they doing?" Jenny blurted out. Catching herself, she added, "I mean, they can't be real unicorns, because unicorns are mythical."

On the screen, the crowd of horned, horse-like people (whose number had swelled to more than thirty) surrounded O'Brien and the G'lumpoid ambassador, their facial expressions more contrite than menacing. As Jenny watched breathlessly, Arlos von Horstein stepped into the camera's line of sight and stared into the lens as he spoke. "We, the unicorn people of the planet Earth, appeal to the interstellar Alliance for aid," he said formally. "Our very existence as a species is under threat. The humans view us as their enemies. They hate us, and they want to kill us!"

The televised call for help left George and Sal too surprised to speak. Their surprise turned into unmitigated shock when they saw Amistad O'Brien draw back her microphone and club Arlos across the nose repeatedly with the object. The TV camera, like an impartial witness, transmitted the scene as the bloodied unicorn man struggled to subdue the furious, shrieking newswoman.

"I can't believe what's happening," said George in awe. "Is this the news, or is it professional wrestling?"

"Quiet," said Jenny. "Whatever it is, it's really important."

After O'Brien had been rendered unconscious by a unicorn fist, Arlos addressed the camera once more. "Can you hear me, CNN?" he said in a pleading tone. "Why don't you show the American public what's going on outside the hotel? It's an absolute atrocity!"

A mere instant passed before the screen switched to a ground-level view of the howling mob that had suddenly gathered outside the Hilton's doors. Thousands of angry New Yorkers, including men, women, and children of all sizes, tried to push their way into the building, all the while shouting, "Kill the unicorns!" "Death to all unicorns!" "The unicorns must die!"

"Omigosh," said Sal quietly. "Is this, like, the end of the world or something?"

Jenny could feel her hearts cracking. _I didn't want to believe it, but now I'm seeing it with my own eyes_, she thought dolefully. Flickering laser beams lit up the TV screen as the Thrag soldiers attempted to repulse the attacking crowd, firing both from the entrance doors and from upper-story windows they had opened.

"What's wrong, Jenny?" asked George, observing that the alien girl's face had twisted into a sad shape.

As she stood up, she inexplicably spoke with a single voice instead of three simultaneous ones: "Sal, George, I can't stay any longer. I'm sorry."

"Where are you going?" Sal asked her.

"Home," was Jenny's bitter reply. "Everything the unicorns told me is true. Earth people haven't changed at all—they're carrying out another genocide at this moment!"

"No, Jenny!" said George. "It's not what it looks like! It _can't_ be what it looks like!"

Ignoring the moose boy's protests, she walked limply to the door and vanished into the outside world. Meanwhile, another newsman had taken charge of the news broadcast, saying, "Downtown Manhattan is in chaos as violent mobs converge on the Times Square Hilton, determined to exterminate the unicorn threat once and for all. In this reporter's opinion, it's high time."

* * *

To be continued 


	37. Tension at Times Square

Half an hour passed, and Sue hadn't pried her eyes from the TV for even a second. Despite needing badly to use the bathroom, she paid rapt attention to every new detail as it was revealed by a local news team.

"The top story this hour is, of course, the standoff in Manhattan," stated a news anchor with rabbit ears. "Not much is known about the causes, or the motives of those involved, as it seems that everyone who gets too close to the scene becomes possessed by the same anti-unicorn hysteria—everyone, including the teams from CNN and Fox News Channel."

Mr. Krantz strolled by, holding a comic book he had just finished laminating. "What are they saying now?" he asked the cat girl.

"Same old, same old," Sue replied without looking away. "Reporters go in, reporters get taken over. It's the sphere, I tell you. Nothing else could do this."

"It can't be the sphere," said the moose man. "They wouldn't use the sphere to turn everybody in New York against them."

"Yeah, it sounds crazy to me, too," said Sue. "If I was a unicorn and I had the sphere, I'd force the aliens to give up all their technological secrets."

"New York police estimate the mob is more than one hundred thousand strong," the reporter continued. "They estimate casualties in the dozens, as alien shock troops hold the mob at bay using advanced weapons. These soldiers are described as very tall, with long arms and round, glassy helmets covering their heads. There are unsubstantiated rumors that they wear helmets of this nature in order to hide their incredible ugliness. The National Enquirer has put up a $50,000 reward for the first person that sends them a photograph of one of these alien soldiers with the helmet off."

The telephone rang, and Mr. Krantz rushed to answer. "Yes, she's here," he told the party on the line. "I'll pass it on."

"Who is it, Dad?" Sue inquired.

"It's Alan," replied her adoptive father. "Professor Frink is at his house, and wants to talk to you."

"Tell him I'm on my way," said Sue, rising hastily.

* * *

"I don't need to spell out to you how calamitous this situation is," said Frink to the assembled throng, which consisted of Sue, Alan, Tegan, Arthur, D.W., Francine, Fern, George, and Sal. "The news media on Earth may not be able to provide us with a clear picture, but rest assured, the reporters who arrived with the alien diplomats are beaming detailed footage across the galaxy."

"Yeah, and I'll bet _everybody's_ watching," added George. "If the Heath Holcombe murder was a big story, _this_ will be Godzilla."

"That's terrible," lamented Tegan. "The whole Alliance will see us as murderous savages. We'll be shut out of the interplanetary community forever."

"Maybe that's what the unicorns _want_," Arthur theorized.

"Whatever it is they want," said Sue, "they're about to _die_ for it, as soon as the Thrags run out of firepower."

"Wait," Francine chimed in. "I think I've got it. After World War II, many of the Jewish people settled in Israel to escape from persecution in their home countries. Maybe the unicorns are after the same thing—they want to be relocated to another planet, one they can call their own."

"That's silly," said Fern. "I've been to their underground city—I'd say they've got it pretty good. I can't imagine why Greta's parents are complaining about persecution now, because while I was visiting them, they didn't say a _thing_ about the subject."

"Valid points, all," said Frink, "especially yours, Francine. If I were an impressionable Alliance citizen watching these events on my ultra-mega-3D-screen TV, my first impulse would be to write my congress-alien and ask for the unicorn people to be resettled on a more hospitable planet."

"But I don't _want_ the unicorns to leave Earth," said D.W. sadly. "I _love_ unicorns."

"_Everybody_ loves unicorns, D.W.," said her brother. "They're cute, they're graceful, and you get three wishes if you steal one of their horns."

"Nobody wishes the unicorns harm," said Alan, "not even the X-Pets."

"I have no idea why they'd be unsatisfied with their lives on Earth," said Francine. "Unless…"

"Unless what?" said George.

"Unless," said the now ominous-sounding Francine, "they're _running_ from something."

The kids quietly pondered her statement for a moment. Turning to Arthur, she asked, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"What are you thinking, Francine?"

The monkey girl drew a deep breath. "Greta talked about something called Ragnarok—the final judgment, the destruction of the world. We assumed it was Dark Augusta, since she was on her way at the time. But maybe, just maybe, Ragnarok wasn't about her at all."

"You mean," said Arthur, a hint of fear in his voice, "Ragnarok may still be coming?"

Francine nodded. "But this time it's different. This time, the unicorns have the option of leaving the planet before the apocalypse hits."

"Fiddle-faddle and balderdash," said Frink mockingly. "According to my astrological calculations, by the time the apocalypse arrives you'll all be long dead—especially _you_, Fern."

"Especially _me?_" said the poodle girl anxiously. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't say anything," said Frink. "Now, then, to the matter at hand. Someone, or something, needs to sneak past the mob and the alien troops, get the sphere away from the unicorns, and destroy it, thus bringing this crisis to a satisfying conclusion."

"What about your robot, Ling?" Sue proposed.

"Ling's not up to the task," replied Frink. "She wouldn't last a second in the midst of all those people."

"There must be _other_ robots," said George.

"There are," said Frink, "but none as sophisticated as Ling. The other robots are designed for special purposes, and have limited range—theme park robots, security robots, teaching robots, Matt Damon, and so on."

"But we can't send a _person_," Sue pointed out. "Nobody can get close to the sphere without falling under its spell."

"We could send D.W.," said Arthur jokingly. "I can just imagine her in New York, screaming 'Kill the unicorns!' until she loses her voice."

"I'd _never_ do that," said his sister peevishly.

"The sphere doesn't work on the unicorns themselves," Francine observed. "But Greta's dead, and Van's gone back to the way he was."

An idea entered Sue's mind like a ton of bricks exploding. "Hold on a minute," she said to the others. "I know someone who just might be able to pull it off."

* * *

To be continued 


	38. All Expenses Paid

"I love your books to death, and I'd hate to see the series end," Rubella muttered to herself as she jotted the words onto a slip of pink stationery. "If nothing else, please write a new series about the adventures of Persephone after she graduates from Pigblisters. Yours truly, Rubella Degan."

Her sister, Prunella, folded up the note and opened an envelope to receive it. "Thanks for helping with my campaign," she said warmly. "But why do you still call yourself Rubella Degan? Mom's remarried now."

"Yeah, I know," said the teenage rat girl. "But in my opinion, Degan's a way cooler name than Prufrock, which has a dorky ring to it."

"I don't think it's dorky," said Prunella.

"Oh, puh-leeze, Prunie. You know the poem, _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_, by T.S. Eliot? Do you know why the guy is fifty years old and still single? 'Cause of his dorky last name."

Both girls heard a vigorous rapping on the door. "I'll get it," Rubella offered.

On the porch stood a multitude of Prunella's friends, and a strange-looking man in a smock whom Rubella didn't recognize. "Yeah, she's here," she told the group. "I'll grab her."

Alan was foremost among them, and he greeted Prunella with an eager grin. "How would you like to save the world…for the third time?" he asked the girl.

"Uh, well, I'm trying to save Henry Skreever right now," she answered, "which is more important."

"Nice to, gloyven, see you again, Prunella," said the man with the spectacles and the overbite.

Recognition was slow in coming, but it came. "You…you're that crazy scientist," said Prunella, backing away fearfully.

"Let me explain," said Alan, approaching her cautiously. "When you lost your memory that day, Professor Frink was studying the alien implant in your brain."

"I _knew_ it!" exclaimed the now-livid Prunella.

"But that's not a bad thing," Alan went on. "It's not, because your implant is the only thing that can save the alien ambassadors in New York, and prevent Earth from becoming the pariah of the whole galaxy."

"What's a pariah?" inquired D.W.

"And how, exactly, is my implant supposed to do all that?" said Prunella warily.

"It's quite simple," said Frink, pulling out of his pocket a metallic device with buttons and a microphone. "Using this remote transmitter, I…"

"Put that down!" said Alan, shoving the scientist's arm out of sight. "You'll scare her!"

"I won't do it," said Prunella, her eyes on fire with firmness. "Nobody's gonna turn me into a robot slave ever again."

Sue stepped forward. "You don't understand," she said assuringly. "We need you to destroy the magical sphere that turned us all into zombies. You won't have to shoot Mr. Haney, or anyone else."

"Why can't I do it of my own free will?" said the anxious rat girl. "Why do I have to be controlled?"

"Because the sphere takes over anybody who gets too close," replied Arthur.

"That's why you're the only one who can destroy it," Francine added. "If Frink controls you, then the sphere _can't_. Make sense?"

Prunella shook her head. "Find another way. Let Rubella hypnotize somebody. Let Rubella hypnotize _me_. And get rid of that remote whatchamajigger. I'm not a puppet, I'm a human rat being!"

"Let's do it, Prunie," said Rubella excitedly. "It'll be fun. I've always wanted to see the Empire State Building, and with everyone mobbing the Hilton, the lines will be short."

"Do it, Prunella," said George. "The fate of the world depends on you."

"Do it, Prunella," said Frink. "Free will's an illusion anyway."

"What's a pariah?" D.W. asked again.

The sight of her friends' earnest faces began to soften Prunella's stubborn heart. "I'll…need some time to think it over," she said hesitantly.

"You've got forty-seven minutes," Frink told her.

"Forty-seven?" said Prunella, puzzled.

"Forty-seven minutes until the next flight leaves for LaGuardia," said Frink.

"Awesome!" squeaked Rubella. "All expenses paid?"

"Including a $60-per-day food allowance," the scientist replied.

Prunella's jaw dropped. "_Sixty dollars a day just for food?_"

Frink nodded.

"Is there a Ben & Jerry's in New York City?" the girl asked him. "Please say there is one!"

"There are _thousands_ of ice cream shops," said Frink with enthusiasm.

"I'll do it!" said Prunella with delight. "Wind me up and set me loose! Oh, I'm gonna eat _so_ much ice cream!"

"I want to meet the Soup Nazi!" said Rubella.

"Excellent," said Frink. "We must leave at once, with the speed and the haste and the not looking back. Do your parents mind?"

"I'll check," said Rubella, who shouted to the second floor, "Mom! Prunie and I are going to New York City to save the world!"

"Put on your makeup first," her mother called back.

As they waited for the rat sisters to finish preparing, the kids encircled Frink and gazed in admiration at the sophisticated transmitter in his hands. "It's the most powerful transmitter known to man, with the megawatts and the megahertz and the messed-up TV reception," he boasted. "With it, I could make her dance an Irish jig from a thousand miles away, ga-hoyven."

"Okay," said Sue with a hint of disbelief, "but can you get her past the mob and the Thrags with laser guns?"

"Have no fear, wee one," said the man in the smock. "I've planned everything perfectly, including the funeral arrangements in the off chance she doesn't make it."

* * *

to be continued 


	39. A Done Deal

Frink worked furiously, stringing one wire after another from his transmitting device to the TV set in the Prufrocks' home, babbling to himself all the while: "…the red wire to the Audio In port, with the sound and the distortion and the gloyven…the black wire to the Cable port…"

Around him stood Arthur, D.W., Fern, Francine, George, Sal, Alan, and Sue, all with a keen interest in his activities. "In a matter of minutes the connection will be established, and this humble appliance will pick up everything Prunella hears and sees," he explained to them.

"Everything?" said George, intrigued. "Even when she goes to the bathroom?"

"That's right," said Frink flatly. "Now stop snickering, all of you."

"We're not snickering," said Arthur.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Francine chimed in. "Stick one of those chips into Paula Abdul's brain, then make a new reality show where you just watch what she sees."

"The problem is, the picture would be blurry most of the time," said Fern.

Frink pushed a button on his transmitter, and a loud bang ensued, accompanied by sparks and smoke from the back of the TV. All the kids jumped back, but the scientist only smirked. "Stupid vacuum tubes only get in the way," he grumbled. "And, we're done. Let's switch it on and watch what happens."

The moment he activated the power to the television, the screen lit up with a wobbly, black-and-white image of the back of an airplane seat. The picture waved back and forth as Prunella alternated between glancing impatiently about the cabin, and peering intently at a Sudoku puzzle she was working out.

"Look at me!" cried Sal, bounding forward to press her face against the screen. "I'm Prunella!"

"That's enough, Sal," said George.

"What?" said his little sister. "Do _you_ want a turn?"

* * *

"Please ensure that your seat belts are securely fastened, that all tray tables are in their upright and locked position, and that all personal electronic devices are turned off," droned the recorded voice of the flight attendant.

Prunella turned to her sister, who was in the aisle seat. "Do you think the chip in my brain counts as a personal electronic device?" she inquired.

"No doubt about it," Rubella replied.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" wondered the little rat girl. "I don't know how to turn it off. What if we crash because of me?"

"_I'll_ turn it off for you," said Rubella, and she deftly waved her hand in front of her sister's face.

Prunella stared at her incredulously. "Uh, I think it's still on, sis."

"That's the _fifth_ time you've said that," was Rubella's response.

* * *

Minutes passed, and the image on the screen turned into one of the Katzenellenbogan Airport and its runways growing smaller as the distance between them and the plane increased. "Oh, I think I'm gonna be sick," moaned Fern. 

"C'mon, it's only a takeoff," Sue chided her. "Haven't you ever flown before?"

"Once," Fern replied. "I filled up three motion sickness bags."

"You're such a wuss," said Sue. "Flying in a plane is the most natural thing in the world."

"That's easy for _you_ to say," the poodle girl retorted. "You basically _grew up_ on an airplane."

"After we clear up this New York business," said Alan, "the first thing we should do is bring back the _real_ Sue Ellen from whatever universe she's in."

"If you can do that, I'll be forever grateful," said Sue with a touch of bitterness. "I'd like nothing more than to go back to the world I came from, a world where humans and Yordilians live together in harmony."

"But I don't want to live in harmony," said D.W. "I want to live in Elwood City."

"I'm curious about something," said Arthur, addressing the cat girl. "In your dimension there's another me, and another Francine, and so on, right? What's it like for them? Are they happy under the Yordilians, or not?"

"The other _you_ threw ice cream in my face and called me a traitor," Sue answered. "The other Francine isn't too happy either."

"Is there a resistance?" Fern asked her. "I mean, an anti-Yordilian uprising?"

Sue nodded. "It's small, but highly organized."

"If I were in your dimension, I'd join the resistance in a heartbeat," said Fern.

"Thank you, Fern," said Sue ominously. "I'll remember what you just said when I get back."

As Fern pondered what her careless words might imply for her counterpart, an enraptured Muffy suddenly burst into the house. "Fern! Fern!" she exclaimed with joy. "Mr. Gelt took my offer! He's paying _two hundred thousand_ for the dress!"

Fern's heart exploded with relief. "That's great, Muffy!"

The braided girl could barely restrain herself from leaping. "Mavis gets her surgery, and we get to keep the rest for ourselves," she exulted. "It's a win-win-lose situation!"

"I'm happy for you," said Fern with a wide-eyed smile. "Though frankly, I'll miss seeing you in the space dress."

Muffy pointed her gaze at the scientist in their midst. "What's Dr. Frankenstein doing here?" she inquired. "And what are you all watching?"

"It's the world through the eyes of Prunella," Frink informed her. "Prunellavision, if you will."

"Hmph," said Muffy. "Why would anybody be interested in that?"

* * *

The sky grew dark as Prunella, Rubella, and the jetliner they were in passed high over Crown City. Far below, Mel Cooper waited in a public library reading room, still in the suit and tie he commonly wore when practicing law. As he idly examined the front page of the Wall Street Journal, a stranger approached him—a stranger who walked with the aid of a cane, and sported a top hat and beard. "Mr. Cooper," the old man whispered gruffly. 

"Mr. Gelt," Cooper answered back, no trace of fear in his tone.

"And this?" said Gelt, motioning at the figure in the wheelchair who sat at the duck man's side.

"My daughter, Vanessa," replied Cooper.

"If you say so," said Gelt as he seated himself. Van, clad in the optical fiber dress and the same dark wig he had borrowed from Fern, smiled pleasantly at Gelt but didn't speak.

"I decided to have someone model the dress, so you'd be sure you're getting the genuine article," Cooper explained. "It just happens to fit Vanessa, so I brought her along."

"She's a…a _handsome_ girl," Gelt remarked.

"Muffy suggested we meet in a library, so you wouldn't raise your voice," said Cooper. "Shall we get down to business?"

"Indeed," said Gelt softly. "I have in my possession a certified check for two hundred thousand, which will be in your hands once the dress is in mine."

The duck man nodded, and turned to his "daughter". "Vanessa, it's time to change back into your old dress," he stated. "You remember where the unisex bathroom is, don't you?"

* * *

To be continued 


	40. You Crazy, Mon?

Once they had disembarked at LaGuardia Airport, Prunella and Rubella attended to the task of finding a cab. This proved to be easy, as swarms of yellow taxis were constantly running past the exit doors. Rubella caught the attention of a dreadlocked man who was enjoying a cigarette break. "Sir, could you take us to the Times Square Hilton?" she inquired.

"You crazy, mon?" said the man with a heavy accent. "It's like a war dere, wit' people dyin'."

"Yes, I know," said Rubella a bit sheepishly. "You see, I'm a reporter."

"And who dat?" asked the cab driver, pointing at the little girl next to her.

"Uh, she's a _junior_ reporter," was Rubella's reply.

"Eighty dollahs," the driver said glibly.

"I've got it right here," said the rat girl, drawing a wad of bills from her handbag.

Minutes later the girls were belted into the back of the cab, gazing out the windows at the vast and growing cityscape of New York. They had little to say to each other, as neither understood well the destiny that awaited them in Manhattan, or the steps they would have to follow in order to survive.

Prunella broke the silence, but in an odd way. "Testing," she said emotionlessly. "Testing, testing. Gla-hoyven maven."

Rubella turned to her, startled. "Dr. Frink? Is that _you?_"

"How did you guess?" said Prunella in a robotic tone.

"Well, you _did_ say 'gla-hoyven maven'," said Rubella matter-of-factly.

"I did _not_," Prunella insisted.

Back in Elwood City, Frink pumped his fist triumphantly. "An unqualified success!" he exclaimed.

"An unqualified success," Rubella heard her sister say.

Sal, overcome by giddiness, rose on the tips of her toes until her mouth was even with Frink's transmitter. "I just peed my pants!" she yelled into the microphone.

"I just peed my pants," Prunella repeated.

"Uh-oh," said Rubella. "Driver, could you pull over somewhere, please?"

* * *

Van, now in the peach-colored dress he had worn as a girl, rolled into his living room with an elated grin on his beak. "How did it go?" inquired his sister Odette, who wore shorts and a loose tank top as she worked out to a Brazilian Samba exercise video.

"He bought it!" was Van's exultant reply.

"And here's the check to prove it," said Mr. Cooper, standing behind the boy's wheelchair with a slip in his hand. "Tomorrow, when I go back to Elwood City, I'll deliver it to the Cutlers in person."

"Why can't we keep a little of it?" Odette asked him. "I mean, like, a service charge, or whatever."

"I know it's tempting," said the duck man. "However, I'm doing this not as a lawyer, but as a friend—or at the very least, someone who shares a common enemy with Muffy."

"Gosh, I can't _believe_ what Mr. Crosswire did to her," said Odette, pausing to wipe the sweat from her forehead. "It wouldn't surprise me if she's traumatized for life. Being attacked is scary, no matter who's doing the attacking, because you don't know what's going to happen to you."

"Yes, it was a shameful and cowardly act," said Cooper, "but I've set a plan in motion to ensure he never hurts his daughter again." Looking over at Van, he went on, "And you, my son, have dressed like a girl for the last time."

"Aww, man," said the duck boy, his face downcast.

* * *

Block after block, tower after tower, sailed by as the rat girls waited anxiously to arrive at their fateful destination. As the taxi crossed over 30th Street, they began to notice that both the traffic on the streets and the crowds on the sidewalks were beginning to thin down. An even more surprising sight greeted them a few more blocks to the south, where the avenue was practically deserted, except for a few brave souls who were snapping pictures…and the enormous, packed crowd that filled the neighborhood ahead.

The driver stopped his vehicle at the curb. "Dis is as far as I go, mon," he declared. "You on your own now."

"Thank you very much, sir," said Rubella, placing four twenties in the man's palm.

Upon exiting the cab, they discovered that the bustling noise of the mob was even more fearsome than its appearance. It wasn't unlike the sound of a rock concert mixed with a meeting of the Ku Klux Klan, multiplied several thousand times. Again and again they heard shouts of "Death to the unicorns!" and "Bash in their horns!".

Rubella felt her knees weakening as she looked at the scene. "Are you sure you want to do this, Prunie?" she asked her sister.

Prunella showed her an expression of resigned confidence. "She doesn't have a choice," were the words that came from her mouth.

"Go on, then," said her older sister. "I'll stay right here. No way am I gonna become part of that."

Not a nail remained unchewed at the Prufrocks' house, where Frink and the kids witnessed the proceedings courtesy of Frink's device. "Walk forward, slowly," the scientist uttered into the receiver. "Squeeze your way through the mob until you get to the hotel. Take your time, this isn't a race."

As the rat girl marched boldly into the midst of the angry New Yorkers, the image on the screen became a sea of lower backs and rear ends, with an occasional baby carriage. "C'mon, Prunella, you can do it!" said Arthur, clenching his fists.

"Excellent," said Frink proudly. "Just as I predicted, the anti-unicorn hysteria isn't affecting her at all—not _visibly_, anyhow."

"But she still has a long way to go," remarked George.

"If you estimate the range of the sphere at a mile and a half," said Frink, "the entire journey should take at least forty-five minutes."

"Forty-five minutes of listening to that _awful_ shouting," said Fern, hands over her ears.

"I wish I'd destroyed the sphere when I had the chance," Sue lamented.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into longer minutes. Though the scenery never changed, no one dared look away from the TV screen. "There must be _millions_ of them," Alan marveled.

* * *

Will Prunella succeed? Will she survive? Find out in the next thrilling chapter! 


	41. Into the Breach

The sky over New York City was black and cloudless. Rubella shivered within her nylon coat, her wad of curly hair barely keeping her ears warm. As the minutes passed and the moon began to peek over the skyscrapers, she realized that her sister's mission would take up far more time than she expected. _I could freeze to death here_, she thought. _That mob's giving off plenty of body heat, but how close can I get before the sphere sucks me in?_

Her eyes wandered up and down the well-lit but mostly empty street. Restaurant signs, bar signs, and even theatre signs presented themselves to her view, but no taxis, buses, or even subway entrances. _You'd have to be crazy to stand around in a place like this_, she told herself. _Crazy, or on patrol…_

Her attention caught by a parked police car, she started to shuffle in its direction as chilly gusts swept through her hair. It became clear to her that a lone officer was sitting inside, most likely keeping an eye on the unruly masses. _He's sure to help me_, she thought. _Policemen are always helpful._

Officer Gonzago was startled by the sound of knuckles rapping on the window of his squad car. He rolled it down to get a better view of the stranger's face, and was greeted by a long, pointed nose, a pair of pleading eyes, and lashes that hung heavy with mascara.

"Excuse me, sir," said Rubella sweetly. "I know this is an unusual request, but I'm really cold, and the inside of your car looks very warm. Is it all right if I slip inside for a minute or…"

"Sorry, lady," said the policeman brusquely. "I don't do business with the likes of you."

The window quickly closed, leaving the befuddled rat girl to seek warmth elsewhere.

In the meantime Prunella, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, but unable to disobey the commands Frink piped into her mind, reached the edge of the crowd and the beginning of the relatively empty space that led to the Hilton. The tableau was a grim one. The entrance doors had been barricaded with pieces of lobby furniture, behind which a number of ever-vigilant Thrag heads stood like lampposts. New Yorkers on every side debated how large a mass of humanity would be needed to storm and overwhelm the alien guards. And worst of all…

"Oh, my God!" Fern blurted out.

"It's _horrible!_" exclaimed Francine.

"Vomitrocious!" remarked Muffy.

And worst of all, the bodies of those slain by alien gunfire lay in heaps in the bushes, against the walls, and in the entrance to the valet parking garage.

The picture was in black and white, but the message came through in vivid color. "They…they shouldn't be dead," said Sue, her voice quivering. "They were regular people like you and me. They didn't want to hurt anybody. It was the _sphere_ that made them attack the hotel!"

D.W. looked up at her older brother, tears forming in her eyes. "Why, Arthur?" she asked plaintively. "Why are the unicorns killing people?"

"I don't know," said Arthur firmly. "I just know that we're gonna stop them."

Muffy, her expression filled with angst, suddenly grabbed the pleats of Frink's smock. "Please, Dr. Frankenstein, don't make her go any further," she begged. "She's my friend, and I don't want her to be killed."

The scientist shot her a look of knowing concern, and turned his attention back to the transmitter he held. "Do exactly as I say, Prunella," he spoke into the microphone. "Raise your hands high above your head and walk _slowly_ in the direction of the doors. If the aliens point their guns at you, stop, but keep your hands _above_ your head."

Prunella, her hands elevated, took a step forward. The kids in the viewing audience held their collective breath. She took another step. The kids dared not move or breathe.

The Thrags stood still, their inscrutable, helmeted faces giving no indication whether they were looking at Prunella or away from her.

She was halfway up the concrete slope to the hotel doors, and the alien guards had yet to make a hostile move. _They could shoot her down like a dog at any second_, thought George. _I don't know if I can watch._

"Please don't kill my friend," Muffy muttered to herself. "Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…"

_She'd better not die_, thought Frink. _If she dies, I'll have to resort to weapons of mass disintegration._

Less than two feet remained between Prunella and the nearest upraised couch, when a Thrag suddenly poked its long arm through a crack in the barricade, the muzzle of its weapon parallel with her nose. So quick and agile was its movement that the kids' hearts started to beat faster before they even realized what they had seen.

"State your intent!" barked the Thrag in a low, resonating voice.

Frink wasted no time in bringing the microphone up to his mouth. "Please let me come inside," were the words he spoke.

"My daddy's in there," Prunella told the armed alien.

Without lowering its weapon arm, the Thrag communicated in quiet murmurs with its neighbor, their helmets vibrating as the lights of the city bounced off them. Finally, much to the relief of Frink and the children, the guards opened up a breach wide enough for Prunella to pass.

The rat girl marched dutifully into the hotel, a Thrag flanking her on each side. "She made it," said Fern with joy. "She's inside."

"From here on it's easy," Frink assured his young companions. "The unicorns want to maintain a peaceable façade, so they won't attack her. All that's left is to locate the sphere, and employ the element of surprise."

Watched at every moment by a stiffly moving Thrag, Prunella searched room after room of the hotel, all the while calling out, "Daddy? Are you in there?"

The helmeted alien, apparently losing patience, rested a gloved hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's a big hotel," it uttered. "It'll take you a long time to find him this way. Do you know where he was last?"

Alan grinned smugly at his friends. "What'd I tell you? They're just like Earth cops."

"I think he's with the unicorns," said Frink into his device's receiver.

"I think he's with the unicorns," Prunella repeated.

"I'll check with them," the Thrag offered. "Follow me."

Through the long corridors of the Hilton strolled Prunella and the kindly alien. One of the conference room entrances was guarded by another Thrag, who politely stood aside to allow them passage. The moment Prunella stepped into the spacious chamber, the microchip in her brain sent a moving image to her friends of a multitude of unicorns, more than forty in all, as well as a nearly equal number of laser-toting aliens.

One of the unicorns, a male with smears of blood underneath his nose, approached the pair. "Who is _this?_" he inquired, apparently taken with the small visitor.

"She claims her father is here with you," the Thrag reported.

"I…don't see how that's possible," said the unicorn. "The only human in our midst is a woman—the reporter who struck me."

Arthur gestured at the TV screen. "That's him," he said with certainty. "That's Greta's dad."

"_He_ must have the sphere," said Francine.

Arlos von Horstein, his expression free of malice, gently patted Prunella's scalp. "You're a lovely girl," he gushed. "I don't know why you chose to come to such a dangerous place."

"I'm looking for my daddy," said Prunella innocently.

"Interesting," said the unicorn man. "I hope your daddy isn't out there in the mob, with all the other people who want to hurt us unicorns."

"No," said Prunella, shaking her head vigorously. "My daddy would never harm a unicorn. He _loves_ unicorns. _I_ love unicorns."

"You _do?_" said Arlos, taken aback. "But how…"

As he struggled for words, Prunella leaned forward, wrapping her arms around the robed unicorn's waist and smiling blissfully. Arlos put up little resistance as she clutched one section of his vestments after another, looking for…

…_found it!_

The round bulge underneath his robe was her target. Moving quickly, she yanked the blue cloth aside and inserted her arm into the deep inner pocket. Her fingers latched onto the object at the bottom, a ball with a smooth, cool surface. Such was the force with which she pulled it out that she lost her balance and tipped over backwards.

As she landed back first, the sphere slipped out of her hand and rolled away.

"Prunella!" Frink shouted frantically into the microphone. "Get the sphere! _Destroy it!_"

The rat girl rolled over and started to push herself up, only to feel strong hands lifting her into a standing position. As she impulsively wriggled and squirmed to break free, her eyes, and the eyes of everyone in her living room, caught sight of a smirking unicorn with a glowing green ball resting in his palm.

"Looking for _this_, perhaps?" Arlos gloated.

* * *

To be continued 


	42. Everybody Wants to Kill Us

"Fight them, Prunella!" bellowed Frink, gripping the transmitter to the point it might snap. "You didn't come this far to fail now!"

Every young heart in the room welled up with despair. The unicorn sphere waved in and out of view on the screen before them, mere inches away yet unattainable. "She'll never get free!" exclaimed Muffy. "They're too strong!"

"It's all over," George mourned quietly.

In the Hilton conference room, Arlos von Horstein glared condescendingly at the furious rat girl as she grunted and writhed. The hands of two unicorns held her upper arms firmly in place, not budging in the slightest.

"Perhaps you think this is a child's plaything," said the unicorn, cradling the sphere protectively in his fingers. "On the contrary. It's an extremely valuable, and extremely fragile, family heirloom--the one possession I hope to take with me when I leave this miserable planet."

Prunella, her strength failing, could only gape hopelessly. The stillness of the TV image prompted Sue to ask, "What do we do now, Dr. Frink?" 

"I wish to glavin I knew," replied the scientist, consternation visible through his thick glasses.

Arthur, defying the uncertainty that held him back, approached the smock-clad man. "Professor Frink, I have an idea," he stated. "I didn't want to say anything before, because it could be dangerous."

"Speak, boy," Frink snapped hastily. "We need all the ideas we can get."

As Arthur and Frink consulted together, Arlos motioned for his unicorn comrades to set Prunella free. "Go find your daddy now," he said patronizingly, "and ask him to buy you a shiny bauble of your own."

The rat girl glared at him as she tried to rub the soreness out of her arm muscles. "You...you _stupid_ unicorn," she grumbled loudly. "What makes you think everybody wants to kill you?"

Her petulance elicited a grin from Arlos. "Take a look around you, girl," was his reply. "Everybody _does_ want to kill us."

The orb in his hand glowed briefly, and all at once, the situation changed.

The Thrag who had escorted Prunella plucked the laser pistol from its belt, lifted it, and aimed at the spot between Arlos' eyes. "Kill the unicorns," it droned.

Before Arlos had a chance to be surprised, a bolt of energy blazed through his skull, scrambling his brain. He wobbled and fell forward, abandoning the sphere to the influence of gravity. As it struck the carpet and bounced off, Prunella saw her chance.

Every helmeted alien in the conference room, as if possessed, began to fire wildly at the unicorns, who tried their best to evade the deadly bolts. "It's working," said Arthur in awe. "The sphere turned them against each other."

"I don't understand," said Francine.

"It's simple," Arthur explained. "When he said, 'The humans hate us and want to kill us,' only the humans were taken over. But when Prunella tricked him into saying, '_Everybody_ wants to kill us,' the aliens were affected as well."

His friends stared, sighing with amazement. "Good thinking, Arthur," said Alan. "They should call _you_ The Brain instead of me."

"There's just one drawback," said Frink, his spectacles fixed on the TV screen. "The unicorns are getting picked off at an alarming rate--and Prunella can't seem to destroy the sphere!"

The scene in the conference room was even more terrible than before. Nearly two dozen unicorns littered the carpet, as the surviving ones fled in terror through the exit doors, dogged at every step by the relentless Thrags. Prunella, for her part, repeatedly heaved the sphere against the nearest wall, but only succeeded in denting the wallpaper. Not even a crack appeared in the seemingly indestructible object, even when she resorted to leaping up and down on top of it.

"Omigosh," exclaimed D.W. "They'll kill _all_ the unicorns!"

"And it's _my_ fault," said Arthur dolefully.

"This is the fate they chose," said Frink. Speaking into the microphone, he ordered, "Prunella, try the elevator!"

Every eye in the room followed Prunella's perspective as she raced to a nearby elevator, pressed the Up button, stepped inside, and waited for the floor indicator to reach the top. At last the doors slid open, revealing to the girl a choice of two corridors, each with a darkened window at the end. The path to the left looked shorter, so she hurried in that direction, occasionally catching a glimpse of a strange-looking alien resting in one of the suites. Not bothering to see if the window could be manually opened, she pushed aside the drapes, reared back, and hurled the sphere with all her strength.

The disorderly noise of broken, falling glass hit her ears, and the unicorn sphere plunged toward the pavement forty stories below.

* * *

to be continued 


	43. Hatred at the Hilton

The sphere hurtled toward the ground, picking up velocity as it went. Prunella let out a sigh of elation--the mission Frink had compelled her to perform was complete. It slowly came to her attention that she was standing on the top floor of a skyscraper, higher than she had ever been before, and the floor started to feel wobbly and unstable under her shoes.

"Well done, Prunella," she heard Frink's voice utter. "Now you can have your freedom back."

Two events occurred at the same moment hundreds of miles apart--the sphere crashing into an overhang and exploding into a thousand fragments, and Frink switching off the power to his transmitter. The kids surrounding the scientist cheered wildly, relieved that the danger to their friend and the people of New York had passed.

It didn't seem that way to Prunella, however. _Must reach elevator quickly_, she thought, her movements careful and deliberate as if to avoid tipping over the building. When she finally made it to the elevator doors, she found that they were opening, and that a mask of pure anger was glaring at her from behind them.

"You little _fool_," snarled Guida von Horstein.

_Oh, geez_, thought Prunella. _One of the unicorns survived. I am so dead..._

"Omigosh, it's Greta's mom," said Arthur, watching the rat girl's field of vision on a TV screen. "She'll kill Prunella for sure."

"Get her out of there, Dr. Frink!" exclaimed Francine.

"I can't," said the scientist with finality. "She's on her own."

Prunella, terrified, backed up against a full-length mirror as the furious unicorn woman approached. "You killed my husband," said Guida sharply. "You destroyed the hopes and dreams of the entire unicorn race. Your death wouldn't _begin_ to make up for the damage you've done."

Seeing no escape for herself, Prunella answered with boldness. "_You_ killed a lot of people too," she retorted.

"No more than was necessary," said Guida, hands on hips.

"Why's the sphere so important to you, anyway?" Prunella asked the woman. "Since you're about to kill me, you may as well tell me."

"Very well, I'll tell you," said Guida. "Our source of magic, the Unicorn Sun, is dying, and once it's dead, life underground will no longer be an option. The Unicorn Council, aware of the imminent arrival of alien ambassadors, decided to seek a new home among the stars. To this end we crafted the Sphere, channeling into it most of the Sun's remaining energy, and set out on our current course."

"Why don't you just live on the surface?" inquired Prunella.

"Impossible," was the woman's response. "The humans would slaughter us, enticed by the wish-granting power of our horns."

"But a unicorn horn grows back," said Prunella, "or so I've heard."

"Not always," Guida explained. "A unicorn can grow a new horn only twice. Remove the horn a third time, and the unicorn dies."

"Oh," said Prunella sheepishly. "Well, in that case, you really _are_ screwed."

"Thanks to _you_," snapped Guida. Her hand darted forward, seized Prunella's throat, and lifted the girl inches from the floor.

Helpless, Prunella struggled for breath as her terrified friends averted their eyes from the screen. "I can't watch this!" wailed Muffy.

The rat girl's vision grew hazy as Guida's grasp on her carotid arteries tightened. Her limbs dangled, paralyzed by pain and fear. "Die now," said the unicorn woman fiercely. 

"Put her down!" a tinny voice suddenly ordered.

Although Prunella's bleary eyes prevented her and her friends in Elwood City from obtaining a clear view, the image was unmistakable to Guida. A Thrag soldier, having emerged from the other elevator, was aiming the business end of its blaster directly at her head.

She moved rapidly, waving her free hand at the helmeted officer, forcing the laser pistol to wriggle and break free of its grip. Prunella, the blood flow to her brain slightly increased, decided to take advantage of Guida's distraction. Summoning all her might, she rammed her fist into the woman's oversized nostril, wrapping her fingers around the first tuft of nose hair she could locate. With a mighty yank, she prompted Guida to cry out in agony and lose her hold on the girl's neck.

Weakened but free, Prunella half-walked, half-crawled into the still-open elevator. Her mind whirled in confusion as she reached up and punched one button after another, wishing for the doors to close and cut her off from Guida and the Thrag who was scuffling with her. Before long they did, and the downward movement of the elevator was the last thing she sensed before losing consciousness.

* * *

to be continued


	44. Dead or Alive?

The joy of Prunella's friends at her clever escape was short-lived. The picture on the TV screen blinked a few times, and then, without warning, both the audio and video ceased. The silence filled their hearts with dread.

"She's dead," exclaimed Muffy in horror. "Prunella's _dead!_"

"Calm down, children," said Frink. "She may be merely comatose."

His words did nothing to stop the sudden flow of tears. "It's _my_ fault," said Sue miserably. "I could've stopped all this from happening, but I was selfish."

"It's _my_ fault," moaned Arthur. "It was my idea that killed the unicorns."

"It's _my_ fault," said D.W., her cheeks moistened as if by rain. "I thought unicorns were good, but they're bad--they're _killers_."

"I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye," Muffy lamented. "That was _so_ rude of her."

Rubella, at the point of surrendering her life to the bitter cold, noticed that the angry chants of the mob had given way to confused murmurs. _It's over_, she told herself. _My little sister saved New York!_ Emboldened, she marched directly into the crowd, pushing her way past innumerable men, women and children.

Her ears picked up many conversations, all of the same nature: "Why the (bleep) am I here?" "Who the (bleep) are the unicorns, and why would I (bleep)ing want to kill them?" "Forget the (bleep)ing unicorns, it's the (bleep)ing aliens who are the enemy!"

Minutes went by. The TV in Prunella's living room offered neither sight nor sound of hope, leaving her friends to mourn her apparent passing. Rubella hurried through the milling mass of New Yorkers, their collective warmth heating her blood. By the time she arrived at the walls of the Hilton, almost no one was left standing before them. The images of the piled dead made her stomach wince, but she walked on, determined to locate her sister.

Naught but Thrags and a few alien diplomats populated the lobby. "Excuse me, sir," said Rubella to the Thrag who paced nearest her.

The guard leaned over, its featureless helmet giving no indication of how it regarded the rat girl. "I am neither a sir nor a ma'am," it stated flatly. "Thrags are androgynous. How may I assist you?"

Rubella swallowed and spoke. "I'm looking for my younger sister. She looks a lot like me--same hair, same nose, everything--but she's smaller."

"A girl matching your description entered the hotel nearly an hour ago, looking for her father," the Thrag told her. "Her location is unknown. If we find her, we will notify you."

_Okay, don't panic_, Rubella urged herself. "Thank you," she said to the alien, and turned to leave.

"Wait," the Thrag called to her. "What is that chemical substance on your face?"

The question startled Rubella. _Chemicals on my face...?_ "Oh," she said, a bit embarrassed. "You mean my _makeup_."

"What is the function of this...makeup?" the Thrag inquired innocently.

"Uh...it makes me more attractive?" said the rat girl.

The alien waved its helmet back and forth, as if ensuring nobody could overhear their exchange. "I wish to learn more about your Earth makeup," it uttered quietly.

"Er...certainly," said Rubella, fishing through her handbag for a business card.

Another hour passed. Frink and his young companions sat where they could, staring at the TV screen and waiting for a glimmer of life. George stood up abruptly, saying, "I need to use the bathroom. Let me know if anything changes."

"Nothing's gonna change," said Muffy, her glum face resting in her hands. "She's _dead_."

"Poor Prunella," said Fern dolefully. "I hoped I wouldn't have to use the elegy I wrote for her."

"You wrote an _elegy_ for Prunella?" said Francine, astonished.

"I write elegies for _all_ my friends," Fern told her.

Rubella waited nervously on a hard wooden chair in the Hilton Lobby. A Thrag soldier walked up to her, saying, "No sign of your sister yet. I'm sorry."

The girl sighed plaintively. _Prunie, where the heck are you?_

* * *

to be continued


	45. Fade to Black

_Rubella Degan's Mental Log. I've been sitting in the lobby of the Times Square Hilton for ten hours, and I've seen more aliens than most people see in a lifetime. Most of the hotel staff is dead, so the Thrags pretty much run the place, and I think they're more interested in keeping the alien diplomats safe than in finding my sister. Who knows what happened to her? Maybe she ran away, maybe she fell down a laundry chute and broke her neck, maybe she was vaporized. Now I know how war widows must feel. I should go out and eat something. I keep telling myself that, and then I wait a few more minutes, hoping that Prunie will come running and throw her arms around me. She's disappeared before...but this time, is it for good?_

"An Alliance spokesperson has promised to launch a full inquiry into the disaster in Manhattan," said CNN correspondent Wolf Blitzen. "Several eyewitnesses claim to have seen unicorns murdered in cold blood by Thrag soldiers. There is, however, no recorded evidence to back up these claims, as the security camera tapes have mysteriously disappeared."

Francine, alone on the couch, pondered what she was watching. _The Thrags weren't responsible for what they did_, she thought, _but it looks like they want to cover it up all the same. What if they mistook Prunella for some kind of recording device? What if they start eliminating witnesses? What if they come after us...?_

Her father, wearing little else but shorts, sneakers, and an undershirt, walked back and forth impatiently. "I guess your friend Pokey isn't the big hero he's cracked up to be," he gloated. "He should've been here ten minutes ago."

"Oh, he'll show up," Francine assured him. "And when he does, you'll be sorry."

Mr. Frensky scowled at her. "If he doesn't show up, I expect things to go back to the way they were," he stated firmly. "Is that understood?"

"Dad, I'm trying to listen to the news," said Francine peevishly. _Pokey will come_, she told herself. _After he kicks my dad's butt, maybe he'll help us find Prunella._

In the privacy of her bedroom, D.W. carefully scissored the stitches that held a stuffed unicorn together. Once the belly was open, she began to yank out the cotton stuffing and hurl it in every direction. "Die, unicorn! Die!" she yelled.

Muffy, half asleep on her mattress, listened to one of her music CD's as it played out:

_Don't stop believin'_

_Hold on to the feelin'_

_Streetlight people_

Her reverie was interrupted by her father, whose expression indicated that he had not only lost all patience, but transcended it. "Muffy!" he bellowed. "I just received a call from Mr. Gelt, _thanking_ me for the dress I never sold him."

"Mm-hmm," said Muffy with disinterest. "Very thoughtful of the old man."

_Don't stop believin'_

_Hold on to the feelin'_

Mr. Crosswire seized the girl by her shoulders and began to shake her rudely. "You're going to tell me who the money went to," he demanded, "and you're going to tell me _now!_"

As Muffy struggled to resist her father's strong grasp, a trio of welcome visitors appeared in her doorway--none other than Mel Cooper, and behind him, policewomen Pinsky and Jones.

"In the name of the law, take your hands _off_ that girl," said Cooper sternly.

_Don't stop_

* * *

THE END 


End file.
